


To Love a Vampire

by Clowne



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: AU, F/F, F/M, Multi, Out-of-Fandom Readable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22565575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowne/pseuds/Clowne
Summary: Buffy, the new Slayer, is troubled by dark dreams as she moves to sleepy Sunnydale, where her hopes of living a normal high school life are soon crushed.
Relationships: Darla/Buffy Summers, Drusilla/Spike (BtVS)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14
Collections: /fanfic/ Collected Works





	1. Through a Glass Darkly

Darla watched as the new Slayer left her new home; emerging from the shadows of her hiding-place she caught the scent of her target, carried to her by the breeze. Autumn leaves swirled in the night-air, the wind masking her presence – hopefully. She wasn’t sure how attuned the Slayer was to her new setting, or how easily she’d be able to detect her enemies when the very ground she walked on was tainted by the Hellmouth.

She closed her eyes and took in the tantalizing scent of her target, noting her perfume – Lily of the valley? But above all it was the beating of her heart, calling out to her, urging her onwards, closer. It made the most beautiful symphony, and she wanted to listen to it up close, press her ear against the Slayer’s chest; sense the blood pulsing through her by letting her fingers trace the veins to their beating source. She supposed some part of her was masochistic, wanting to torture herself by experiencing that delightful ache and not kill. At least not right away. Being in the presence of the new Slayer was like basking in the warm sunlight again, and she wanted indulge herself and take it all in despite her instinct of self-preservation screaming out to her that the Slayer was dangerous and that she should stay as far away from her as possible.

When she opened her eyes again the target had gotten far enough for her to start following. The form ahead of her was lithe and slender, and she wore an opened light blue shirt with a white tanktop underneath, her blonde hair was done up. She was the very image of a high school girl who wanted to look more grown-up and confident – inexperienced, uncertain, self-conscious… just the kind of target Darla loved the most – sweet sixteen.

When all that innocence was wrapped up in the form of a lethal Slayer it might prove to be a fatal attraction. But, she had a goal with her stalking, and therefore a good reason to keep herself from flirting with death. 

She followed her away from the quiet suburb, towards the seedier part of town. Though, to be be fair, Sunnydale wasn’t large or “diverse” enough to have much of a seedy district, just some warehouses and empty buildings in a failed industrial area. It all looked somewhat eerie and spooky at night, but the town’s real problem was what the Hellmouth attracted, not what the human inhabitants got up to.

A pretty teenaged girl would be easy prey to the children of the night, but self-preservation told most of them that going wild in a small town, feeding on its high school population would be more than even its fearful local government would be able to cover up.

Darla hadn’t familiarized herself with the town’s streets, and she couldn’t afford to let her target of of view for too long. A local hangout named The Bronze seemed to be her target’s destination; located in one of the warehouses, now converted into the town’s main hangout for teenagers and youths. The street was empty, and as she turned the corner of the local coffee shop, she hoped they were in a place private enough to talk. Darkness there, and nothing more. The side-street was empty, and dark, only illuminated by the street-lights behind her. She was close, very close, so where had the Slayer gone? Could she have sensed she was being followed and ducked behind some cover? She cursed herself for being too careless. Her instincts cried out louder; get away! Now!

The night-air was still in the side-street between the empty buildings, but that sweet, alluring scent she had followed from suburbia still lingered there. Darla stepped around an oily puddle in the street and stopped to listen. The hairs on her arms stood up. Before she had time to react she was knocked to the ground, hard. The Slayer had managed to lure her into a trap, and certain death. With grace and ease the Slayer swooped down from above, using a metal pipe like some athlethic gymnast. Darla found herself on the cold, hard ground, straddled by her target. The hunter becomes the hunted, Darla thought, taking in the Slayer’s features up close. She found herself interested by her eyes, not able to determine if they were blue or green or somewhere in-between. She’d love to examine them closer in proper lighting conditions, and not while she half-expected a stake to be driven into her undead heart any moment.

The Slayer had the moment of surprise still on her side, and her left hand shot out, taking Darla by the throat, while her right hand was raised, ready to strike. Darla wondered if her coldness gave her away as she watched the Slayer’s eyes studying her, pupils dilated, making them seem all dark. “Who are you? Why have you been following me?”

Darla felt a thrill at the sound of the Slayer’s voice – she sounded surprisingly calm and in control of the situation. Underestimating a Slayer wasn’t something you were likely to do more than once, and Darla made a mental note not to sell this new one short again – if she got the chance. This new Slayer was dangerous; she made her act reckless. “I’m Darla. I just wanna talk,”

Despite the fear she felt, a small part of her hoped her own voice had a similar effect on the Slayer; hers was real low and husky, kind of hoarse, yet somehow endearingly sweet-sounding whenever she wanted to.

Watching Buffy’s eyes – what did she think? She needed the Slayer to believe her, not weird her out or cause her to doubt her intentions. It was important to establish some kind of understanding from the get-go. The Slayer’s hand was holding her in a choke-hold, but she eased up slightly – not that Darla didn’t take some kind of perverse pleasure and enjoyment from being held in a choke-hold by the sexy Slayer, but it wasn’t what she needed to focus on at the moment. “Then talk,”

“Don’t wanna weird you out, but I wanna strike a deal with you,” A surprised look on her face, which quickly changed into a mischievous one. Buffy seemed flustered by the intimate position, but stood, or more correctly, sat her ground. “What kind of deal?” The Slayer’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as she looked down at her stalker. “We can help each other out,” Darla suggested hopefully. “How?”  
Darla’s hopeful smile lessened slightly, realizing it would take some time to sell the new Slayer on the idea. “Quid pro quo? Tit for tat? You are familiar with the concept, right?” Darla eyed her with a raised brow. The Slayer’s eyes narrowed again, Darla took it is an indicator the new Slayer wasn’t in the mood for any cheek. “How can you help, and why?” the Slayer clarified, speaking lowly and clearly, like she was taking to a child. Sassy! Darla smiled up at the teenaged Slayer before she caught herself. Now was not the time for her to be cocky risk messing things up. “Do you mind if we continued this standing up, or somewhere more comfortable? Don’t wanna ruin my new pants,”

Somewhere in the distance a car passed by, otherwise the night was dead silent. “Pretty please?”

Darla was honestly concerned her newly acquired clothes would be permanently ruined from being in contact with the ground in the dirty side-street. The Slayer released her hold on Darla’s throat and climbed off with ease and grace. Darla took the offered hand, and the blonde Slayer effortlessly pulled her up from the ground. “Much better!” Darla stated, stretching and beginning to remove any creases from her suit jacket. She reached into her inner jacket pocket to check her sunglasses – thankfully unharmed by the ordeal.

“So, what d’you think?” Darla queried, turning her full attention back on the Slayer, who watched with a curious look. “About what? Your outfit?”  
Darla laughed. She did a small twirl to show off her clothes for the Slayer’s perusal. “I meant the proposal, but if you’ve got any appreciation you’d like to send my way, that’d be cool too,”

“It’s OK, I guess.”  
“The outfit or the proposal?”  
“Yes.”  
“Cheeky! I like it,” Darla admitted. That seemed to earn another blush from the Slayer; she really was too easy. She had to remind herself not to unsettle the Slayer – at the very least not before they’d gotten some kind of deal down. “Who’s side are you on?” the Slayer wondered, taking in the smartly dressed blonde before her. “I’m on my side,” Darla responded, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m still trying to understand what your angle is here,” the Slayer stated. “Just doing what needs to be done to keep the status quo,” Darla replied casually. “You’d be surprised what you can hear whispered in the night if you just know to listen,” she added contemplatively.  
“I’ve got a way of finding things out – if I were to hear anything important, I’ll let you know.”

“And you’re just doing this out of the goodness of your heart?” the Slayer questioned. “In a way, yes,” Darla responded sweetly. “There is a sense of impending doom looming over this town, I could feel it from miles away and its slowly getting stronger…” Darla mused motioning for the Slayer to follow her down the street towards The Bronze. “I’ve felt it too… it’s hard to put into words,” the Slayer admitted, quickly catching up with Darla. “What about dreams?” Darla asked, turning her head to look at her companion. “Yeah – even before I came here. They’re getting worse,” the Slayer admitted, a hint of worry in her voice, that Darla didn’t think she meant to seep through.

They quickly reached the end of the side street, and in the distance they saw people milling about outside the night club, and the deep thumping music from the building. Darla stopped in her tracks, turned to look at the new Slayer next to her. “So, do we have a deal?” she had a cautiously hopeful look on her face as she searched the Slayer’s eyes. If she felt anything was off, or if she suspected anything about Darla she didn’t show it, and her demeanour seemed more at ease, though she was still clearly somewhat reserved or guarded. The Slayer nodded, “Yeah, sure.”  
“Great! I’ll see you around,” Darla enthused, flashing the Slayer her most charming smile. “Try not to get killed meanwhile, OK? And tell your Watcher to look up ‘the Harvest’, will you?”

Without waiting for a reply Darla winked at her and backed away into the shadows between the surrounding buildings, soon swallowed up by the darkness.


	2. The Feast of Blood

The sun was out and the birds were singing as Giles made his way across the school ground from the parking lot. He still hadn’t gotten used to the pleasant California weather, a sharp contrast to the English summers he had known all his life. The only downside to the change of scenery, and it was a slight one, was the rather rambunctious student body; a boisterous and noisy group of teenagers who seemed to inhabit some of the worst traits associated with teenagers. Thankfully his interactions with them were rather limited, seeing how no one seemed to visit the library voluntarily.

He put his satchel on the reception desk, next to a stack of new books from the Watcher Council, looking forward to spend his morning indexing the books and enjoying a cup of tea. Warm sunlight shone in through the windows, and the chatter of the students was thankfully reduced to a faint background sound. He almost felt like humming a tune as he went about the task of indexing the newly purchased books, but felt that would be a tad too much.

With loving care he inspected the books, some of which couldn’t have seen much use the last couple of decades, if the accumulation of dust on was any indication. The smell of old books was perhaps his favorite scent in the world, and he traced the covers of the books with the tenderness only a bibliophile could show. He had just added ‘Die Unaussprechlichen Kulten’ by von Junzt to the index when the sound of the library doors opening alerted him of someone entering, and for a moment the idle chatter of loitering students could be heard. Looking up he saw Buffy entering, carrying a trendy but rather impractical small holographic backpack. How could she fit all the necessary school books into that thing?

“Good morning, Buffy! How do you do?” he greeted, taking a break from the indexing to have one of their informal morning meetings. “A-OK!” Buffy chirped, jumping up and sitting down on the desk right next to Giles’ stacks of books, her already short skirt sliding up another inch or two. Giles stuttered something and turned away to clean his already immaculate glasses whilst Buffy inspected the dusty old tomes Giles had stacked up on the desk, and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Had an interesting run-in with a stalker last night,” Buffy went on, seemingly oblivious to her Watcher’s embarrassment. “A stalker?” Giles put his glasses back on and braved the slight discomfort of the skirt situation. “Yeah, this good-looking blonde who dressed pretty smartly – she a friend of yours?”

“Can’t say it rings any bells based on your brief description, but I’ll call and check with the Council – perhaps they’ve sent someone to monitor progress here,” Giles thought aloud, feeling a little hurt at the idea that the Council had sent someone to keep an eye on the situation with the new Slayer without alerting him. “Figured as much, she didn’t strike me as one of you types – not enough tweed,” Buffy commented, thinking back to last night’s encounter with the mysterious blonde. “Did you engage her in conversation?” he queried, bringing out his journal to make note of anything that could be of importance later. “She said she wanted some kind of deal with me, and that let me in on whatever she could find out,” Buffy replied, hoping she’d be able to convey the gist of it to Giles in a way that didn’t send him on an immediate study-session to prevent some imagined apocalypse. Sure, having a stalker who knew she was the Slayer was a bit unnerving, but compared to everything she’d dealt with it ranked on the very low end of the scale. Giles, however, didn’t appear to share the lax attitude to the matter, and was scribbling in his journal.

Buffy couldn’t make out more than a few words and letters, given his incomprehensible handwriting. To Giles, a fresh Watcher, the fact that someone knew she was the Slayer was at the very least a point of some concern, and not to be taken lightly. “Could you describe her in some detail, did you learn anything else about her? Any distinguishing marks or details that stood out to you?” Giles asked without looking up from his notes. A “good-looking” blonde didn’t help much in trying to identify this stranger – he made a mental note to talk to Buffy about the importance of paying attention to details and approach everything Slayer-related with the trained eye of a criminologist.

“She was slightly taller than me, college-aged maybe, or early twenties? Shoulder-length blonde hair, blue eyes…” Buffy listed off the blonde stalker’s most memorable and striking features. “Oh, and she told me her name was Darla!” she quickly added, slightly embarrassed that fact that escaped her till then. At that Giles did look up. What was it about everyone in Sunnydale having the weirdest names? Was it something in the drinking water? At least it made it easier to remember.

“She introduced herself?” that was somewhat unexpected, Giles thought, if, indeed, the name as her real one. “I did hold her at gunpoint – figuratively speaking,” Buffy explained. “Anyways, the important bit was that she told me to tell you to look up something called ‘The Harvest’” Buffy went on, standing up and stretching, thankfully for Giles bringing an end to the skirt situation, though he was far too focused on the mention of ‘The Harvest’ to bother with causes of minor embarrassment.

If this mysterious Darla had warned them about ‘The Harvest’, perhaps that was an indicator that she harbored no ill will? Not to say that he trusted her – yet – but she was a possible ally; either working for the Council, or even a rouge, freelancer who had somehow stumbled upon the information. His train of thought was broken by the entrance of Xander and Willow.

“Does ‘the Harvest’ mean anything to you?” Buffy asked, eyeing Giles for any indication he knew something. “It does,” he admitted motioning for the new arrivals to take a seat and join in on their informal morning meeting. “The Harvest… it is a time vampires seem to dread; it is when one of their progenitors is said to awaken from their torpor and feast on the blood of their children and humans alike. It is one of the first prophesied events of their rumoured apocalypse.”

As he spoke, Giles was searching for an entry on ‘the Harvest’ in one of the volumes he had on hand at his desk. “What are the other events?” Willow wanted to know. “The period when the elders begin to awaken from their torpor is said to be a time of great wickedness, with change passing over all things –the “World Soul” in Black in hue, and all virtue dwindles to zero as mankind will have cast aside all notion of good or evil, and take pleasure in chaos and mayhem. When it begins it will pick up speed – faster and faster – till things have spiralled out of the control, and when the elders awake there will be a feast of blood that will drown the world.” When Giles was done the mood had changed rather, and even the sunlight shining in through the library windows, or the distant calls from the hallway couldn’t dispel the feeling of unease and foreboding. “Geez, that’s one helluva way to begin the day,” Xander muttered.

“Of course this ‘Harvest’ has been prophesied for hundreds of years, and no one can say for certain the exact time it is to begin,” Giles quickly added, feeling the need to take away some of the feeling of impending doom. Despair and dread would do them no good. Buffy wondered what kind of information Darla could tell her about ‘the Harvest’, and why she thought it was close at hand… Giles seemed to be wondering the same thing, but chose not to raise that point for the time being. Instead he showed them a woodblock print in the book he had been looking through, where some medieval artist had imagined the rumoured event in rather graphic detail: countless bodies on the ground; drained to the point that only bones protruded over the skin of the persons, while some horrific caricature of the human body feasting on the hapless victims.

“Please tell me that’s just artistic licence,” Xander groaned, looking at the nefarious figure. “Afraid not,” Giles was quick to dispel such hopes. “Many of these vampire elders tend to take on rather beastly shapes as they grow older – and by older I am referring to those who go on to live for several thousands of years, hundreds of which spent in a state of torpor.”  
“Time is a harsh mistress,” Willow agreed, taking in the tall, sickly gaunt and monstrous-looking fiend. Buffy had to admit the figure looked rather unpleasant to the eye; hands that were more claw-like than anything else, the emergence of horns on its forehead, the sickly gaunt face that was almost human, but with unsettling bat-like qualities. “These elders are also prone to deteriorating mental faculties, though the extent and nature of which is hardly comparable to that in average humans,” Giles added as he poured himself a cup of tea.

“I’ll look online!” Willow chimed in. “The Internet?” Giles seemed rather sceptical of the whole computer thing, having thankfully avoided those dreaded machines in his Watcher training. “That’s were all the action is these days,” Xander agreed with Willow. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to check all available venues,” Giles conceded. Just because he couldn’t make head or tails of a computer, and even felt like a fax was pushing it, he assumed there could be information on the Internet that could potentially be of use. If the Council would scan their vast library collections and make them available to Watchers and trainees studying across the world, it would be an invaluable resource. Even just a digital catalogue of their collections of Occult literature would be a powerful tool in combatting the vampiric threat. Information on ‘the Harvest’ was hard to come by, mostly just authors citing each other through vague rumours forcibly extracted from vampires through the centuries.

“Oh, I almost forgot! I got you this,” Giles retrieved a small, leatherbound notebook from his satchel and handed it to Buffy. It was a diary of sorts, with space for an entry each night she could fill out after patrol. “I think we should begin working to gather data on the vampiric population here – and any other eldritch horrors who lurk the night of course, not just vampires,” Giles said, showing her the interior of the book. It was a diary or journal of sorts, with writing-space for each night that she could fill out during or after patrol – the names of places visited, the numbers and descriptions of enemies encountered. On the first page he had drawn up a map of the town, and on the next he had written down important phone numbers in case of an emergency. “And remember to make a note of any special dreams you may have,” Giles added, sighing with content as he took his first sip of tea. Buffy felt rather awkward trying to put words to her Slayer dreams, even in writing. She wanted to dismiss them as unimportant interference, but Giles was quick to stress how important dreams could be. “A dream is a shadow of something real,” he told her, but was rudely interrupted by the school bell before he could on a monologue about the importance of dreams and how to interpret or analyse them.

The rest of the day Buffy felt rather deflated. Giles sure knew how to ruin the mood with his apocalyptic forebodings. She was still getting settled and used to her new surroundings, and she did not need some Armageddon looming on the horizon.

She gazed out of the window at the sun-dappled lawn outside, where luckier students were lounging and goofing around under the pretence of studying. Laughing and playing around, oblivious to the possible doom, and the nightmarish creatures of the night. If she could go back and join them in their blissful ignorance she’d leap at the opportunity.

Cordelia, sitting next to her, seemed to notice her low spirits, and in a rare case of altruism decided to take her under her wing: “Wanna go shopping after school?”  
That brought on a smile from Buffy, the first since she’d entered the library that morning, and she nodded in approval. “I’d love to,” she added, thinking that could be the distraction she needed. She was a valley girl at heart, and it was one of the few ways she could escape from the harsh realities, if only for a while.

When the bell rang, signalling the end of the day, she strolled down the hallways next to Cordelia, who walked with the confidence only the HBI could muster. She wasn’t surprised to learn that Cordelia drove a bright red Vette. “Let’s roll!” Cordelia announced, handing Buffy a pair of sunglasses once she’d started the engine, and the car radio started blaring, drowning out the cacophony of the students. It was a pleasant day, sunny and warm, with just the right amount of breeze, and the wind felt good in her hair. “So, this Giles guy, is he like, your probation officer or something?” Cordelia asked, turning to look at her. Buffy couldn’t help but laugh, thankful for the queen bee of Sunnydale high who was able to make her forget about slaying and be a normal high school girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a roll now, so here is another chapter. Thanks for the review/feedback. I will certainly try to follow that advice as this story continues.  
> Tend to write very fast when I first get to it, and without editing/proof-reading or much of a fixed plan, so who knows where this will end up?


	3. Dark Shadows

Buffy jerked awake, the echoes of the dream ringing in her mind, and it took a few seconds before she was aware of her surroundings. It was dawn and the first light of day was beginning to light up her darkened bedroom. She sat up in bed, the bedcovers pooling around her waist. With a hand that still trembled slightly from the dream she reached for the notebook Giles had handed her. She quickly jotted down some notes on the dream while it was fresh in her mind. It was a recurring one, but clearer and more intense than before. The dreams had been growing in intensity and appearing more frequent after moving to Sunnydale.

After her meeting Darla things had only gotten more complicated; the voice that had whispered to her in the dreams was Darla’s. That low, sweet voice had made her shudder in a way she’d never experienced before, stirring at once a feeling of attraction and repulsion – safety and danger. She’d never before experienced all the conflicting sensations from one single individual, and it fascinated and intrigued her in ways she couldn’t even begin to describe in words.

She closed the book and put it back down. Getting up from bed she put on a silk kimono-style nightgown; it was of a silvery white whitish colour, and with Japanese-style butterflies on it. The soft, cool fabric felt heavenly against her flushed skin. Warm, golden sunlight filtered through the large old oak tree outside her bedroom and formed irregular spots of light in the shadows of her bedroom. Another sunny morning in suburbia – houses with gardens surrounded by hedges and white-painted picket fences. You could practically smell the apple pies cooling in the window-sills, while fathers and sons were playing catch in the backyards. All silent on the surface.

“Buffy! Rise and shine!”  
Joyce’s voice from downstairs broke Buffy’s morning reverie. “Coming!” Buffy called out, tightening her dressing-gown as she made her way down the stairs. Joy was in a good mood; things were going great at the museum, and Buffy had kept out of trouble at school. What more could she ask for? Buffy listened as her mom kept gushing about some big new art exhibition they were organizing at the museum. Something for the high school students? That was just what she needed – her mother interacting with her school friends. “I won’t embarrass you too much, sweetie,” Joyce consoled her, seeing the reaction the news had caused in her daughter. Buffy just smiled back, her mouth full of cereal.

“Do you need a lift to school? I need to get going soon,” Joyce had already finished eating and dressed, and was really just stalling in case Buffy needed a lift to school. Buffy’s response was interrupted by a knock on the door. “I’ll get it!” Joyce spoke up, not too happy about Buffy answering the door wearing little more than her dressing-gown. 

Buffy almost choked on her cereal when Cordelia sauntered in, followed by Joyce. She could see Cordelia raise a perfectly manicured eyebrow as she caught Buffy’s silk kimono-style dressing-gown by the breakfast table. But she quickly dispelled Buffy’s worries when she flashed her an appreciative OK-handgesture. “Well, then, I’m off now. Your friend here said she’d offer to drive you today,” Joyce gushed, quickly bending down and planting a kiss on Buffy’s cheek before she could protest, much less try to avoid it. Buffy felt a blush colouring her cheeks, wishing she’d wake up for real to find out it had all been one embarrassing dream.

Joyce waved at them and disappeared from the kitchen, soon followed by the sound of the entrance door opening and closing. Thankfully Cordelia didn’t comment on her mother, and for that Buffy was eternally grateful to the haughty cheerleader queen bee. Maybe she really did have a heart after all? After hanging out with Cordelia at the mall and bonding with her over shopping, it seemed like their rocky beginnings were water under the bridge. “Listen, Buffy, I like you – in a way, and I’d hate to see you waste your potential cool,” Cordelia started, trying to put words to her concerns for Buffy’s social status. She seemed genuinely upset that Buffy could throw away her social status by hanging out with social outcasts. “Life’s too short to let high school status dictate who you can hang with. Besides, Xander and Willow are way cool. I think you’d agree too, if you came them a chance,” Buffy argued as she washed her empty cereal bowl in the sink. “I think you have a rather outré definition of cool,” Cordelia sighed, but didn’t press the topic further. “Anyway, I didn’t come by just to give you a lift out of the goodness of my heart. There is a spot on the cheerleader squad and I wanted to see if you’d be interested in trying out.”

Buffy’s wish that she was in a rather awkward dream was gone in an instant; washed away by the mental image of her on the Sunnydale High Cheerleader Squad. And it might also be a way to try and bridge the gap between her different friendships. “I’ll do it!” she exclaimed.

She’d made good time getting ready for school, and found herself with fifteen minutes free time by the time she arrived with Cordelia at school in the queen bee’s red Vette. Much too her surprise she found the library absolutely deserted. Giles was always the only person she expected to meet there, especially before school began, so it was odd to find it completely abandoned.  
“Pssst! Buffy!”  
Buffy turned her head at the voice calling out to her, and saw Giles peering out at her from a crack in the door to his office. What was he up to? Buffy jumped over the desk and headed into the darkened office. Giles had pulled down the Venetian blinds, and the room was lit only by his green-glassed bankers lamp. “What’s with the secrecy?” Buffy queried as she closed the door behind her. Giles seemed rather excited and proud as he showed off a parcel he’d just acquired. “Got this from the Council this morning,” he said, showing off its contents. “Pepper-spray holy water!” he announced, holding up a collection of pepper-spray bottles. “Stakes made of ash-wood disguised as functioning over-sized novelty pencils,” he held up a large pencil befitting of the description. “You’re like my personal Q!” Buffy said with a laugh, admiring the wares, which also included a walking stick hiding a handy sword, graphite bullets, and garlic smoke grenades.

Buffy was down with the pepper-spray & pencil stake, but she couldn’t imagining herself strolling around with a walking stick, like it was the 1800s. “Wouldn’t any old pencil do the trick?” Buffy wondered, inspecting the oversized pencil. “Yes, but this one has been tested by top men, so you can be sure it won’t break or fail when you need it the most,” he replied, “and you can carry it around without rising suspicion!” he quickly added.

“Any update on the stalker sitch?” Buffy aksed, hoping it sounded casual enough. “I’ve been in touch with the Council, and they said they’d look into it,” Giles replied; it didn’t seem he put any particular notice on the question as he went about making sure his shipment contained all its listed contents. “If she really is working for the Council and is here to keep track of things, or just on some mission they’d hardly admit it, right?” Buffy countered, to which Giles only hmmm’d in agreement. “Have you seen or heard anything from her since your first encounter?” Giles wondered.

“Only in my dreams,” Buffy admitted, only too late noting how awkward that sounded, and felt a blush oncoming. Giles however was either oblivious or chose to focus on any implications of prophetic Slayer dreams. “She’s appeared in your dreams?” he reached for a pen, ready to take notes in his journal. The cat was out of the bag it seemed, but Buffy hoped he might be able to shed some light on the strange dreams if she was honest about them.

“I’ve had them since before I moved here, but they’ve been getting stronger, weirder…” she was pacing, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at Giles as she talked about her Slayer dreams. “I heard her voice before I met her, and now she’s in almost every dream I have,” Buffy continued, suddenly finding the dusty old tomes he had on the desk very interesting.

“She gives me funny feelings,” Buffy said, as if assuming Giles would know exactly what she was talking about. “Funny in what way?” Giles wondered, looking up from his notes. “Well, not ‘Ha! Ha!’ funny, but, you know, ‘tingly’?” Buffy could feel herself close to blushing, and hoped she wouldn’t start to babble and make a complete fool of herself. “‘Tingly’ like a vampire?” he questioned, brows knitted in confusion. “Sorta, but different, not unpleasant, just weird and conflicting,” Buffy found herself unable to properly put words to the feelings, especially without being too obvious and blurt out something she only half-suspected, which could be interpreted the wrong way. “I see,” Giles made a note of that in his journal. “If, or, rather, when, you see her again, be extra mindful of these feelings and try to detect something particular. If you are actively trying to sense something, maybe it will come to you,” he reasoned. “Will do,” Buffy agreed, feeling relieved now that the topic had been brought up without disastrously embarrassing results. “And try to find out if she may have had any similar dreams – shared dreams perhaps? But don’t be too obvious about it,” he added after a few seconds.

“I’ll find you some books on dreams. There could be something useful there. If Darla has experienced similar dreams it could help us trying to determine her true nature,” Giles said, scanning his catalogue of Occult books for any titles that could be useful. “You think she’s supernatural – or unnatural?” Buffy asked with raised eyebrow. “Not necessarily, but one can never be too careful, Buffy. Especially when living on an active Hellmouth. She may very well be a normal human being, a witch, or a seer, or something to that effect, but she knew about your identity, and that worries me,” he explained, looking at her with concern.

Xander’s voice startled them, and Buffy peeked through the Venetian blinds to see her two friends looking around the library. “Buff! G-Man! What is up?” Xander greeted as Buffy emerged from the office, twirling one of the oversized novelty pencil stakes. “Not much, just catching up before the morning meeting,” Buffy responded, sliding gracefully over the reception desk while still twirling her newly acquired tool of the trade. Giles followed suit, but opted for a more restrained and befitting way of getting on the other side of the reception desk.

“Did you hear about the guy who got eaten?” Willow sounded like she was bursting at the seams delivering the news. Buffy raised an eyebrow, trying to recall overhearing any such rumours, but came up short. “Who?” she wondered, lounging against the reception desk. “Actually, he was dead before he got eaten; someone dug him up during the night and snacked on him,” Xander filled in. “Doesn’t sound like the usual suspects,” Buffy commented, her brows furrowing in confusion. Nothing new under the sun. “Possibly, there are certain vampires who need to feed on human flesh as well as their blood to sustain their unlife,” Giles began, looking at the as-of-yet unopened copy of Sunnydale Press on his desk. There it was, in a big bold font; ‘Cᴏʀᴘsᴇ-ᴇᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴀᴛ ʟᴀʀɢᴇ – Pᴏʟɪᴄᴇ ʙᴀꜰꜰʟᴇᴅ!’.

“Any indication there is something supernatural behind it? Couldn’t it just be some crackhead high as a kite feeling a little peckish? Or a pack of wild, rabid dogs?” Buffy countered, silently hoping the matter was for the police, not the Slayer to deal with, as she looked over Giles’ shoulder to read the article. Xander should her an incredulous look. “This is the home of the Hellmouth, right? Of course there’s gotta be something that goes bump in the night behind it,” he argued, finding support in Willow. The two of them actually seemed to look forward to finding out what (possibly) nefarious fate had befallen the documentary filmmakers. “It’s like schoolwork, only more exciting,” Willow said. Giles looked up from the paper and eyed the teens casually talking about the news of a corpse-eater at large in Sunnydale. He wasn’t sure if any of them knew the grave implications of the paranormal held. They were young, and had thankfully been spared the soul-crushing truths he had come to experience first-hand, and he had hoped they would be dissuaded from delving deeper, peering behind the veil and never being able to look at the world the same again after coming face to face with the harsh truths of the universe, and humanity’s place in the grand scheme of things. He had seen the cosmic darkness, and knew that there were things best kept secret from the majority. Some doors could not be shut once opened, and Buffy and her friends were still relatively, thankfully, ignorant to the truth. “I think we ought to look into it,” Giles finally replied, to which Willow smiled and struck a high-five with Xander. Giles remained silent, cleaning his glasses and Buffy huffed in annoyance, sensing another night of patrolling loomed on the horizon.

As soon as they left the library all thoughts of nameless horrors was pushed to the back of Buffy’s mind, and the cheerleader try-out took precedent. If only she could balance high school life, cheerleading and slaying vampires… Her worries lessened somewhat when she entered the gymnasium later that day, and saw the competition. If she played it safe and held back her Slayer-enhanced athletics somewhat, she figured she had a good chance of impressing Cordelia.

At the end of the arduous try-out Buffy stood victorious while the other girls had failed to live up to Cordelia’s high standards. One or two of them were limping, and stretched their sore limbs, while Buffy was still brimming with energy like a Duracell Bunny. Buffy was congratulated by her fellow cheerleaders, smiling her most charming valley girl smile, which came natural to her. Despite being introduced to the others by Cordelia, Buffy was still not sure she could tell most of them apart. While some of the people she had met in Sunnydale left a strong impression, others failed to catch her notice, blending into the background like extras, and the other cheerleaders fell into the latter category; shallow, one-dimensional cardboard cut-outs who seemed content to like and dislike whatever was the correct position. It didn’t help matters that the cheerleader uniforms even made them look alike. Buffy wasn’t sure if two of them were related, or if they were just freakishly similar by pure coincidence.

“See you tonight at The Bronze?” Cordelia asked as the cheerleaders finished dressing in the locker-room. “Type O Negative is playing there for one night only – by far the biggest band to grace that stage,” she went on. Buffy couldn’t say she had heard of the band before, but nodded her head in agreement – hoping Joyce would let her stay out late on a weekday. She could always sneak out like she often did to go on patrol, but it would be nice to not have to lie to her mom all the time about what she got up to. She took an extra moment to admire her new, rather formfitting and cute cheerleader uniform in the mirror, thinking looked rather good on her. 

Willow waited for her outside the locker-room, looking rather out of place and uncomfortable as Cordelia and her entourage showed up. “Just go ahead, I’ll be with you in a minute,” Buffy told Cordelia as she caught Willow. Cordelia rolled her eyes, but didn’t deliver any snide comments, and instead opted for a strained, courteous smile directed at the redhead. Buffy was rather pleased with the results – baby steps. Hopefully things would work out and they’d all be able to hang out together. “What’s up, Will?” Buffy asked, carrying her gymbag over her right shoulder. “Giles said it could be a ghoul doing the corpse-snacking,” Willow spoke up, looking at Buffy’s wearing her new cheerleader uniform with some concern. “You’re OK with being friend with a cheerleader, right?” Buffy joked, touching shoulders with Willow as they made their way down the hallway, attracting some stares from the other students. “I’ll give it a try, just for you,” Willow replied, a small smile as she noticed the reaction of the students around them, not sure how to react to a cheerleader hanging out with, well, Willow.

They entered the library, finding Xander studying newspapers with a rather bored look on his face. “Good news, everyone!” Giles exclaimed as he emerged from his office, nursing a cup of tea. “By ‘good’ he means ‘bad’, ’cause we’ve found out there is most certainly something nefarious going on with that corpse-eating case,” Xander was quick to interject. Who could have suspected? Buffy thought, feeling Giles was about to put a dent to her plans of a normal evening. “Correct, but that is good news, as we know have some idea of what we are dealing with,” Giles corrected, placing the empty cup back on its saucer on the reception desk and reaching for a dusty old tome. Buffy closed her eyes and sighed.

Despite the grim prospect of having to deal with a corpse-eating ghoul, Buffy was still in a decently good mood from having made the cheer squad, and she wasted no time in breaking the news to Joyce when she came back from the museum. Joyce seemed really proud of her, and glad to see Buffy enthusiastic and smiling, and she felt more certain that ever that moving to Sunnydale had been a wise move; a fresh start, away from the troubles Buffy had gotten herself mixed up in back in L.A. “Is it OK if I head down to The Bronze later?” Buffy asked over supper, trying to sound casual and indifferent. “Oh, OK, then. Just remember it is a weekday, so you better be home by eleven,” Joyce reminded her.

Not long after sunrise and Buffy found herself walking among the headstones of a foggy graveyard, casually twirling a stake between her fingers, like a trained baton twirler. For its size Sunnydale had a surprisingly, and somewhat disturbing, amount of graveyards – twelve to be precise. No doubt the dead population rivalled the living one. And who knew the number of the undead population? Two fresh vampires were quickly and promptly dispatched to the other side without much of a struggle. Thankfully none of them had managed to ruin her outfit when they were dusted. She was about to call it a night and head over to The Bronze when a noise caught her attention. She stopped up and listened, silently praying that the noise did not mean she had work ahead of her and could be on her merry way to The Bronze and enjoy the music.

She groaned internally as the curious sound was heard again. Was it too much to hope for that its source was just some straggling mourners come to lay down flowers and say their goodbyes to some dearly departed relative? Buffy kept low as she sneaked towards the place it seemed to originate; one of the larger family mausoleums. Ivy-clad walls, decorative ornaments adoring the façade, and the family name in gold carved into the stone lintel above the entrance. All very Gothic and proper, a worthy resting-place for all eternity. Only, someone’s rest was being disturbed by the sound of things. The door had been forced open, and left ajar. With her new pencil stake in hand she poked her head around the corner, peering into the darkened interior. Her mom’s dinner came dangerously close to coming up again as she saw a figure bent over the opened stone sarcophagus, busily consuming its contents. It was a tall, gaunt figure, beyond malnourished and frail. If she remembered correctly from what Giles had told her of ghouls, it was a human who clung to life by consuming flesh, which they grew addicted to, and messed them up, turning them into a ghastly caricature of the human they had once been.

Whether some almost indistinct sound or moon-light shadow gave her presence away, the ghoul turned its head and stared at her; its deep-set, wild eyes held something of madness in them, and the blood-caked mouth opened in a snarl, revealing a set of crooked, broken teeth – with bits of flesh stuck between the gaps. Buffy wrinkled her nose in disgust at the gruesome scene, desperately hoping she’d be able to hold down the dinner, at least till after she had brought the ghoul out of its misery. It leaped at her with surprising agility and force, and despite its rather frail and sickly appearance, it was fast and strong. The fact that it was, or at least had been, so very human-like was rather disturbing – unlike demons, and vampires it didn’t have unnatural eye-colour, or fangs or horns or claws – just altogether too human for her liking. As it leapt towards her she jabbed at it with the pencil stake, and it impaled itself on it all the way to the hilt, metaphorically speaking. It didn’t even have the common curtsey to turn to dust, but instead it gave off a ghastly, inhuman shriek of unimaginable pain, as Buffy quickly stepped to the side to avoid it, and with her pencil stake buried in its chest it crashed into another stone sarcophagus before tumbling to the floor. Buffy felt sickened by the ghastly cry, and knew she had to end the fight right away. The cries might alert anyone passing by, perhaps the police kept a lookout to prevent any further cases of graverobbing and corpse-eating, and would come rushing at the anguished cries. She didn’t think she could explain what she was doing in the graveyard, next to a dead ghoul if the five oh came upon the scene of the crime.

She made sure to avoid its trashing limbs as she moved to the side and snapped its neck. The ghoul had feebly and frantically been trying to remove the stake firmly lodged in its torso, but fell silent once the neck was snapped. It didn’t disappear by some miraculous and merciful case of luck, but just lay there, dead. Buffy huffed in annoyance. This ghoul was getting on her nerves, and to make matters worse, she had to be quick if she wanted to make it to The Bronze in time. What do do about the body? It wasn’t heavy, so she could easily move it outside and throw it into some bushes till she found some more permanent place to dump it, but the smell might give it away… She looked at the opened stone sarcophagus, and the half-eaten contents in the coffin inside; there was enough space there for two. Why not?

Out of sight, out of mind! Buffy thought, giving herself a mental pat on the back as she pushed the stone lid back over the sarcophagus, and brushed the dust off her hands, a rather pleased look on her face. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. 

The line outside The Bronze was worryingly long and moved at a snail’s pace, so rather than waste more time standing in line with the other chumps, she headed for the backdoor, where she managed to sneak in without difficulty. She felt a rush of excitement as she thought of the possibility of running into Darla in the crowd. But soon a wave of doubt washed over her, and her peppy mood sunk as she began to doubt her standing with Darla. The mysterious, older blonde might not want to be seen with a high schooler.

Darla sensed the presence of the Slayer approaching; that dangerous tingling of danger and excitement that thrilled her so. She turned her head and saw the new Slayer, standing alone and looking rather lost, nervous and apprehensive all by her lonesome self. Darla couldn’t hold back the half-smile at the sight, and as their eyes locked across the room, she winked at the blonde Slayer.

Darla sent a silent thank to whatever gods were responsible for the modern attitude as to what was considered allowable dress in public. Teenagers walking around baring their midriffs, wearing miniskirts that left just the barest minimum for imagination, and their skin-tight tanktops… What a time to be alive! Or at least undead. Still, the ’90s had been a let-down fashion-wise compared to the ’80s as far as Darla was concerned; the fleecy sweaters and the rather vibrant colours – orange and yellow – were rather off-putting, even on the most attractive wearer. She felt like a kid in a candy store mingling with lewdly-dressed young valley girls, grinding against them on the dance floor under the coloured strobe lights.

Darla left her spot and made her way across the floor towards the Slayer. The mass of people seemed to part automatically for her, and she moved with a strange kind of grace and elegance across the floor, quickly standing before the Slayer, sending her that sweet smile of hers as Buffy took in the blonde before her; a quite formfitting blueish grey Ralph Lauren wool sweater over her white button-up shirt, the edge of which was visible over her short plaid skirt. The knee-length argyle socks and ruby slippers completed the school girl look, a style Buffy had never before had any special like or dislike for; but seeing Darla’s sweet smile and the playful twinkle in her blue eyes as she showed off her uniform, Buffy had to agree it was rather enticing. Those funny feelings were more intense than before, and so muddled together she couldn’t even begin to determine whether it was a warning message or meant to draw her in further. “You look great,” Buffy inwardly cringed at her lame comment; what was it about this mysterious stalker that she was able to reduce her to an awkward, shy mess? “Oh, I got accepted on the cheerleader squad!” Buffy spoke up, and Darla found herself smiling back, loving the enthusiasm Buffy showed. “This calls for a celebration!” Darla stated, placing her arm around Buffy’s waist and guided her towards the bar desk – the contact was innocent and casual, but it caused a pleasing terror in Buffy, who shuddered at the touch and the way it made her feel both vulnerable and safe. Darla leaned in and whispered something to the bartender – the two seemed to be on familiar terms – and soon Darla handed Buffy a turquoise-coloured drink that didn’t seem to be available for just everyone at the bar.

“Buffy!” Cordelia’s voice called out to her over the music; Buffy turned her head and saw the queen bee, flanked by her entourage – Buffy couldn’t remember their names despite her best effort. “Hi, Cordy!” Buffy greeted with a smile. The tall, statuesque brunette caught Darla’s eye in particular, and she smiled as she imagined what she’d like to do with that lovely brunette before tasting her sweet blood. The brunette had that haughty, stuck-up attitude that Darla found so irresistible. And it seemed like Cordelia found Darla more agreeable company than Buffy’s other, less cool friends. “Can I get you anything? Drinks are on me. We’re celebrating Buffy making the cheer squad,” Darla looked at Buffy’s cheerleader friends with her sweetest smile. “I’ll have what she’s having,” Cordelia stated, nodding towards Buffy, who was still holding her drink untouched. Darla laughed, and turned to the bartender, holding up four fingers. Cordelia was too proud to back down, and her fellow cheerleaders wouldn’t dream of disobeying their queen bee. “¡Viva la Muerte!” Darla declared, holding up her drink in a toast. Buffy, Cordelia and the other cheerleaders joined her in the toast, clanked their drinks together just as the lights were dimmed and the band got on stage. 

The rest of the night passed in a blur, dancing and talking to Darla and her fellow cheerleaders, and before Buffy knew it her curfew was soon blown. “I have to get going, otherwise I’ll turn into a pumpkin,” Buffy told Darla, biting her lower lip as she watched the preppy-looking blonde with the blonde hair, at once illuminated by the shifting neon lights before being embraced by shadows again. Darla leaned in close, and Buffy shuddered at the close contact, and the almost intimate touch as Darla brushed aside her hair and whispered into her ear “sweet dreams” in that low, husky voice of hers.


	4. The Colour of the Night

Darla lay on a leather sofa in the therapist’s office, staring up at the ceiling. “You don’t mind if I smoke, right?” she held up a packet of cigarettes retrieved from her inner jacket pocket. There was an unintelligible grunt or groan in response, and, taking at to be a positive response, she searched her pockets for a lighter. She found a cheap translucent plastic lighter in the pocket of her pants and lit her cigarette. “Now, where was I?” Darla wondered aloud, as she blew out a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. “Oh, yeah! The Slayer!” she said as she caught her previous train of thought. “All I had to do was get her to listen to me, and help her along the way, maybe make sure she didn’t go and get herself killed,” Darla continued without missing a beat, admiring her ruby slippers, as she waited for any comment from the shrink. A faint grunt, which she took as a clue to go on, was heard, and she took a drag of the cigarette before continuing.

“Falling for her was certainly not part of the plan, but she’s just so darn cute and sweet. And here’s the real kicker, are you ready for this? She’s the Slayer – it is her job to kill me,” Darla muttered dejectedly at her own progress with the plan of preventing the Harvest. She exhaled and flicked some cigarette ash onto the expensive-looking carpet, but the shrink didn’t seem to care – at least he didn’t comment on it. “I mean, I haven’t felt this way about anyone for decades! Why did it have to be her? Am I losing my marbles, Doc? Wait, you are a doctor, right?” she turned her head to look at the shrink, but he remained silent, so she turned to look back at the ceiling. She had heard of elder vampires who had gone insane; wouldn’t try to blend into a society they felt increasingly at odds with, and became disillusioned and suicidal. They couldn’t find any purpose in their unlife, some even longing for the sweet release of death to end the monotone dullness of their existence. Who knew in what state the Master would be in after his thousand-year-long torpor? Was Darla starting to lose it as well? Had the centuries already begun to deteriorate her mind? But she was still young, and she hadn’t grown bored with unlife; she revelled in it, finding new enjoyments in the nights to amuse herself. So why did she continuously flirt with death by hanging around with the new Slayer and her high school friends?

There was something about the new Slayer that made her stand out from her predecessors; she had that thing – a feeling Darla couldn’t put into words that made sense. She only knew that there was something about the Slayer she found irresistible; a likely fatal attraction. She was drawn to the Slyer like a moth to the flame, and she was worried she’d end up like Icarus because of her hubris and her love for the teenage Slayer.

“Are you even listening?” she asked with a pout, turning her head to look at the shrink – the psychiatrist, or psychologist or whatever he was – had apparently expired some minutes ago, and Darla groaned in annoyance. How inconsiderate of him! She hadn’t even finished venting! The man seated in the Chesterfield armchair had slumped forward, his chin resting on his breast; the bitemark on his neck, and the bloodstains obscured by his death-pose and the shadows. He looked quite comfortable Darla thought to herself as she sat up; like he was just dozing off from listening to a patient’s inane neurotic ramblings.

Darla got up and strolled around the office, taking the opportunity to snoop around the office with the added privacy of the owner’s demise. Dark oak panels, well-stocked bookshelves filled to the brim with the latest hogwash on the field of psychology… A framed diploma from whatever clown college he had graduated from with his degrees along with the obligatory print of Edvard Munch’s famous “Scream” hung on the wall behind his writing desk, completing the cliché.

A lit “male fiori lamp” on the table next to the recently deceased shrink caught her attention, and she amused herself by doing ombromanie on the wall with the aid of its light; the shadow of a wolf stalked across the wall, and soon thereafter the shadow of a bat flapped its wings upwards, towards the ceiling. Not bad, just too bad her audience was unable to appreciate her artistic talent on account of him being dead.

She turned her attention to the writing desk, and looked through the welter of papers and books cluttering its surface. Underneath some papers she saw a shiny Zippo lighter, and she stuck it in her pocket as a memento; it would be a nice upgrade from her current lighter, which was on its last legs. And it wasn’t like its previous owner would miss it, or have any future use of it, so it would be a shame to let it go to waste. Besides, she liked to have something to remind her of her victims. It helped them stand out from the masses more easily when she had something to remember them by.

There was an added pep to her step as she waltzed down the street; the bloodrush of her recent victim making her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Not even the eerie foreboding atmosphere of impending doom, or dangerous crushes on people who wanted her dead could dampen the mood of her blood-induced high.

Buffy shielded her eyes as the rookie vampire turned to dust before her. It was bad enough if she got vampire dust on her clothes and hair, she didn’t want to get it in her eyes as well. If there were several vampires around it could prove fatal to be blinded for just a moment. The cloud of dust thankfully dispersed quickly and without more damage than some dust on her new shoes, and that was a source of slight annoyance easily fixed by brushing them against the grass, wet was it was with night’s dew.

She stretched her sore muscles and considered retiring for the night. It wasn’t too late, and with her mom being gone for the weekend she didn’t have to worry about keeping curfew or sneaking back inside, but it’d also be a boring, lonely Friday, and she didn’t want to waste it on a graveyard. Another ten or fifteen minutes and she’d call it a night she decided, strolling past the untended graves with a bored look on her face. Movement just at the corner of her eye caught her off guard, and she jumped, nearly falling backwards from shock. She avoided falling on her ass, but she didn’t manage to look the least graceful as she staggered, and leaned against a nearby gravestone. “Jeez! You scared me!” Buffy clutched her chest, more out of a theatrical bent than any actual hammering heart. Darla chuckled at Buffy’s reaction, her head turned to look at the Slayer. She lay outstretched on a tomb, very casual and at peace, having apparently been stargazing. 

“Is that a stake in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” Darla wondered, a sweet, playful smile on her lips. Buffy laughed, despite the blush she felt at the innuendo. “Both actually,” she responded in tone, earning a laugh from Darla. “So, you’re just hanging out a graveyard at night?” Buffy asked, ignoring Darla’s earlier comment, as she reached out to help pulling Darla up. “It’s one of the few places you’ll have interesting conversations in this town – or anywhere else,” Darla said with that playful look in her eyes. “In my experience those who hang out at graveyards at night don’t tend to be very pleasant conversationalists,” Buffy noted. “No? Must be a Slayer thing,” Darla suggested. “I’m kinda worried about you…” Buffy began, struggling to find the right words that didn’t make her sound like a total moron. “You’re worried about me?” Darla questioned, cocking her head slightly to the side, and Buffy felt her pulse rise under the blonde’s gaze. “It’s not safe – you could get hurt; the night is full of dangers,” Buffy said, hoping that Darla would take her warning at heart. “I can take care of myself,” Darla argued, as she fell into step with Buffy. “I can’t help it – I worry,” Buffy said, feeling rather embarrassed at the way she worried about Darla. It was silly really, but she felt bad, and she’d never forgive herself if anyone got hurt because she’d failed to warn them of the dangers she knew threatened humanity. “I appreciate your concern, but I know the score,” Darla stated with a knowing look. “I worry about you too,” she admitted. 

The two of them walked side by side down the empty streets; never once did they bring up any plan to go anywhere together, it just happened naturally. Buffy wasn’t sure what they’d do when they eventually had to split up – content to just go along and enjoy the company while it lasted. By some unspoken agreement they seemed to slow down and take their time, prolonging their walk as long as possible. “So, his new neighbour was a monster?” Darla wondered, interested, as Buffy filled her in on what had transpired with her friends. “Yeah, a real creepy-crawly – a sort of human spider hybrid who kept the men she lured in stored in a dried-up cataleptic state in cocoons of cobweb,” Buffy went on, shuddering at the mental image. “Will you walk into my parlour? said the Spider to the Fly” Darla mused, reciting the opening of Mary Howitt’s poem. “Any news on the whole end of the world thing?” Buffy asked, changing the subject, throwing a quick, sidewards glance at her companion. “You’ll be the first to know,” Darla assured her, tilting her head back to gaze up the starry night-sky. “I don’t know why you’ve decided to help us, but thanks,” Buffy hoped it didn’t sound as lame as it did in her mind, but Darla’s reaction was one of silent contemplation.

“This is my house,” Buffy said, stopping up by the entrance door, and groaning internally at her own awkwardness. Darla stood at the bottom of the steps up to the porch, looking up at her. In the soft glow of the outdoor light, her blonde hair glowed like a halo. “Do you maybe wanna come in?” Buffy didn’t know why she kept blushing around Darla; they were just two friends hanging out, having fun – hopefully. Darla nodded her head and followed Buffy up the stairs and inside. “Home alone?” she questioned, seeing the darkened interior of the house. “Yeah, mom’s off to L.A. for the weekend,” Buffy explained, closing the door behind them. Darla looked around, seemingly quite smitten with the homey white picket fence suburb æsthetic of Joyce’s decoration.

Darla refused anything to drink, and Buffy showed her to the living-room. Darla joined her on sofa, looking rather out of place somehow – a larger-than-life person in painfully ordinary boring surroundings. Darla looked uncharacteristically nervous, as if she had something on her mind. Buffy wanted to ask if Darla had somehow sensed something in her dreams – maybe a shared dream? That was both terrifying and thrilling at the same time. She recalled Giles telling her that a dream was a shadow of something real. That idea caused a plague of butterflies in Buffy’s stomach, and in a strange way, she felt similar to when she talked to a boy she liked and was scared of messing up. Just as she was about to speak up the phone interrupted them, and Buffy felt at once relieved and annoyed at the interruption. “Could be Mom checking in on me, making sure I’m home,” Buffy excused as she got up. She’d gotten a short break from the blushing and the stuttering awkwardness that was sure to set in whenever she tried to talk to Darla about the strange dreams she’d had, but she feared she’d also lose her momentum and courage when she got back.

“Hi, Mom,” Buffy greeted, leaning against the counter, twirling the phone cord with her free hand. “Hi, Sweetie – I take it the house is still standing?” Joyce greeted. “More or less, at least the phone is still working,” Buffy responded in tone. “That’s good to hear, Dear,” Joyce said. “How’s L.A.?” Buffy wondered. “Oh, you know, it’s as chaotic as ever. What about you? Home alone?” Joyce queried, and Buffy could readily imagine the raised eyebrow on her mother. “No, I’m having a friend over,” Buffy admitted casually. “A boy?” Joyce wondered, and there was no mistaking the suspicious tone in her voice, though she did her best not to let it come through. “No, Mom, it’s a girl friend,” Buffy said, rolling her eyes at her mother’s worry. “I’m sorry, Buffy, but my “No Boys” policy is unwavering,” Joyce explained at her daughter’s exasperated response. “No boys,” Buffy agreed, looking at Darla, and felt blood rushing to her cheeks.

Following some more pleasantries Joyce decided it was time to let Buffy get back to her friend, and after an exchange of good night wishes Buffy hung up the phone and sauntered over to the sofa. “Hey, I got you something!” Darla spoke up, reaching for something in her shirt pocket, and retrieved a small amulet. “It will keep you safe,” she said as Buffy accepted the gift, holding it in her hand and admiring it. “Here, let me,” Darla offered her hand and assistance. Buffy handed her the amulet necklace and turned. Darla brushed aside her hair, and Buffy felt an indescribable tingle or shudder at the intimate contact. Darla put the amulet necklace around Buffy’s neck and closed the strap. “Are you cold? You are shivering,” Darla noted, so close to her ear, in a near-whisper.

It was silly; Buffy had fought vampires and other eldritch horrors, and now she was incapacitated by this mysterious blonde, who had managed to reduce her to a blushing awkward mess. Buffy turned around again, and found herself admiring those perfect pink lips that smiled back at her. Her eyes met Darla’s, and they seemed oddly dilated, and uncertain. Could it be even the confident Darla had a weak spot? Darla leaned in, then caught herself and giggled nervously, a conflicted, almost pained look on her face. “I shouldn’t…” she whispered sadly, her blue eyes unmistakably dilated, shining with repressed emotions. Drawing on her Slayer Buffy leaned in, scared the moment would be lost; she closed the distance between them, capturing Darla’s lips. There was a plague of butterflies in her stomach, and her entire body was hypersensitive in the moment, and her heart raced when she felt Darla response and kiss her back; cautiously at first, then growing bolder, deepening the kiss. Buffy felt Darla tremble, as if she was in the throes of an internal struggle that threatened to destroy her from within. Darla let out a pained cry and recoiled, breaking their kiss; her sweet smile was gone, replaced with a ghastly grimace of fear and pain and shame. In the dimness of the room Buffy was horrified to see how Darla’s eyes shone like a cat’s when the headlights of a passing car hit them through the window. Her pink lips had changed to a ghastly purplish and her complexion more cadaverous. Her lips were parted, a deep, hoarse breathing sound escaped her, and Buffy’s eyes fell upon the razor sharp fangs with surmounting terror as the change sunk in.

Buffy felt hopelessly lost, her entire world turned upside-down in an instant, leaving her shell-shocked; she looked at the beautiful blonde she considered a friend transformed into a daemonic child of the night. Buffy stood up, nearly stumbled, but caught herself, and acting almost on reflex, she reached out for her packpack nearby, and pulled out a pencil stake. Her hand was trembling, and she fought to keep it still. She’d never felt so conflicted and unprepared for dealing with a vampire before. She searched Darla’s predator eyes for any indication or clue that there was something familiar in them, and she felt her heart ache at the unreadable look in the strange eyes looking back at her, framed by messy blonde hair. “Say it isn’t so,” Buffy near-whispered, unable to hide the tremble in her voice. Darla eyed the stake, then looked up and held Buffy’s gaze, but remained silent, almost imperectbly recoiling on the sofa, ready to flee. The silence was deafening and soul-crushing – it lasted for seconds but felt like an eternity. Buffy clutched the stake, her knuckles turning white. Anger and hurt fought for dominance, pulling her in different direction, but neither winning out, keeping her glued to the spot. Buffy blinked, felt tears running down her cheeks, and hated that a bloodsucker made her feel that way. She quickly dried away the tears with her free hand; didn’t want to give the vampire the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She was angry at herself and at the blonde bloodsucker before her, and the anger needed an outlet. The Slayer instinct screamed at her to take the stake and end the bloodsucker’s miserable existence once and for all. She should stake her and end her miserable existence once and for all, but something held her back; and instead she turned and stormed off, leaving the blonde bloodsucker who had given her those funny feelings behind on the sofa.

She ran out into the night, leaving the door open as she dashed outside and sprinted down the empty suburb, the stake still clutched in her hand. She ran and ran till her chest was burning and she could taste blood in her mouth the world felt like it was distorted in a blood-mist, and she just wanted to cry and scream at the top of her lungs to let out all the emotions inside her so she didn’t explode. All the distant sounds were drowned out by the screaming inside her head, and she dropped to her knees and bent over in the middle of the empty street, feeling like she was gonna throw up. Her breathing was ragged, and her throat burned. The pencil stake still in her hand broke into splinters and she punched the ground, causing the skin on her knuckles to crack and bleed.

The anger was quickly subsiding, and the hurt she felt was quickly overpowering her – a deep despair that threatened to crush her under its weight. After minutes she got up and stumbled onwards, clutching her bruised and bleeding right hand. The night was cold, and her throat still burned as she began making her way to Giles’ house. She rang the bell and Giles quickly opened the door, an alarmed look on his face as he caught sight of the Slayer standing on his doorstep, clutching her bleeding hand, and tear-stricken eyes and quivering lip. “Darla’s a vampire,” Buffy said, her lip trembling, her eyes red and swollen from crying. He wasted no time ushering her in and guiding her towards the sofa. With the door closed he rushed over to the medicine cabinet and retrieved a first aid kit. Neither of them spoke as he began to treat Buffy’s bleeding knuckles with antiseptics. “I’m sorry, Buffy,” he stuttered, looking up at her with a tone of genuine sadness that reflected in his eyes at the sight of his Slayer reduced to a mess showing up at his doorstep late at night. “I’ll go prepare the guest room for you,” he near-whispered as her wounded hand was treated. “We’ll talk more tomorrow,” he added, and Buffy simply nodded her head, unable to find the strength to speak, guessing her voice would be hoarse from crying, and she didn’t trust herself not to stutter or crack up.


	5. Fallout

Giles liked to get up early in the mornings, but after what had happened the previous night he felt like stalling, dreading the inevitable talk. After he had prepared the guest room for Buffy he hadn’t been able to relax or sleep. How could he best deal with the situation? There was nothing in his Watcher training, or education, that could have prepared him for the situation he believed they found themselves caught up in. He doubted a mere friendship would lead to the heartbroken state his Slayer was in when she showed up on his door last night.  
Maybe he could look into the matter – see if there had been any past mentions of Slayers forming bonds with vampires or daemons in general. A romantic bond seemed to be the case between Buffy and Darla; which was, if not completely unique, at least exceedingly unusual in the annals of history.  
It was his task to guide the Slayer, which was challenging enough without matters of the heart also being involved.

He supposed Buffy should talk the matter over with her peers – Willow being the obvious choice. The two of them appeared to have gotten quite close, and out of all of Buffy’s friends the only one who could be relied upon in such a sensitive matter.

He descended the stairs in his dressing-gown and slippers, finding Buffy already up and seated on the sofa. Not surprisingly it didn’t seem like she had had much rest, and she didn’t even appear to hear him approach. “Good morning, Buffy,” he greeted as casually as possible, making his way to fetch the newspaper. Her response was muted, lifeless and sad. “Tea or coffee?” he asked from the kitchen, being extra careful to make as little noise as possible as he prepared breakfast. “Tea, please,” Buffy responded, her voice low and hoarse.

Buffy hadn’t had any sleep; she didn’t want to dream, certain she’d dream about _her_ again. So she’d forced herself to stay awake all through the night. Not that it was difficult, she’d had plenty of sleepless nights since she became the Chosen. Not even her first encounter with a vampire had affected her as strongly as last night’s fiasco. She got up and shuffled into the kitchen when Giles called her name. He was in the process of pouring her tea as she sat down. Looking around the kitchen she was struck by how homely it looked; not at all what she had imagined a bachelor’s pad to look like. It seemed exactly like she might have expected from Giles though. All nice and tidy, with potted plants, bowls with fruits and vegetables and a rather impressive collection of herbs and spices. She helped herself to some toast with strawberry jam. “Milk?” Giles asked, pouring a small dash of tea in his own tea. “Yes, please, no sugar,” Buffy nodded her head, savouring the taste of the jam. “So good,” she gushed, smiling appreciatively. As a Slayer she burned a lot of energy, so in turn she needed more nutrition to keep up. “It’s home-made, from England,” Giles replied with a smile, seemingly pleased that Buffy knew how to appreciate the small culinary gifts he had brought with him to the Americas. “Is this also home-made?” Buffy wondered as she applied some honey to another piece of toast. “Yes, I do buy from local farmers and sellers as much as possible,” Giles replied, happy that Buffy’s appetite didn’t appear to have suffered after last night.

“So… about last night,” Giles finally decided to address the elephant in the room. Buffy licked off the honey that had gotten on her thumb, and sighed. She’d fought countless bloodsuckers, and worse eldritch horrors, but confronting her own, inner daemons, that was something she was unaccustomed to. She began to recount her encounter with Darla, how she had run into her in the graveyard, how they had gone home together, and how she had invited Darla in. She began to play with the tea-cup as she began to retell a condensed version of the events that had led to the awful truth. “She tried to bite you?” Giles asked. “No, we just looked at each other.” Buffy flashed him a sad smile.  
“Then what?”  
“I just couldn’t stay there. I had to get away,” Buffy’s voice sounded small and sad.

“Vampires show their true nature involuntarily at times, when experiencing strong emotions; anger, thirst, arousal, sexual desire…” Giles left the sentence trail off, cleaning his glasses as a distraction from the rather awkward. “Often there are overlapping emotions,” he finished, putting his glasses back on. Buffy blushed red and hid her face from view. Giles was just as embarrassed, if not more; there was no manual for how to deal with teenage romance drama in the training to become a Watcher. He doubted it would have made it any easier if he did have any idea on how to handle such situations. “Do you want me to… stake her?” again Buffy’s voice sounded unnaturally vulnerable, and it was clear she dreaded the answer. Giles took a sip of the tea to stall for time. Darla was dangerous given her vampiric nature, yet she had refrained from physically hurting Buffy and her friends – intentionally – and she seemed to want to help them. Even if it was for purely selfish reasons she had defied her nature. Perhaps she could be an ally despite the circumstances? He wasn’t sure how to respond; the fact that there were romantic feelings between the two certainly complicated matters. “Considering the unusual circumstances of the situation, it might be best if we took some time to look into her motives before acting. What do you think?” Giles replied, gently placing the cup back on its saucer. Buffy let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding. Was she relieved or dreading a possible meeting with Darla? Maybe she didn’t know herself at the moment.

“I haven’t heard back from the Council yet, but I’ve received some more books from them I could look through, see if there are any mention of her, and of any similar instances having occurred in the past,” Giles said and finished his tea. “I’ll talk to Miss Calendar about the possibility of scanning the Watcher journals,” he went on, preparing to do the dishes, but seeing that Buffy wasn’t quite done eating decided to postpone it. “I thought you didn’t like those newfangled computers?” Buffy wondered, munching away on her toast. “Quite, and not without good reason, but there may be certain advantages to having an easily searchable database of the Watcher journals. It might save a lot of time when it comes to research,” Giles noted. Buffy sensed there was an opportunity to add to levity, and take the spotlight away from her own romantic mishaps. “So, Miss Calendar, huh?” she wondered, innocently enough. Giles became a little flustered, and was about to clean his glasses, only he remembered he had just done so, and instead he stuttered something about wasting time on frivolities and that “Women are a closed chapter for me.”

“That amulet she gave you,” Giles nodded to the small iron pendant around Buffy’s neck. Buffy’s hand rose to touch the amulet. With everything going on, it hadn’t been on her mind, but as Giles called attention to it, it all came rushing back. “It is a troll cross – an ancient protective symbol against malevolent magic,” Giles continued, getting up and heading for the bookshelves in the living-room. “Since she’s a vampire she can’t stand crosses, but not so with a troll cross. It will only work on someone intending harm,” he continued, finding the book he was looking for and entering the kitchen again. “Farmers would carve these troll crosses into the lintels of their entrance doors, and into stones or even the very bedrock to protect their farmstead from harmful magic,” Giles said, handing Buffy the book, reciting the entry almost verbatim by memory. Buffy looked at the old black-and-white photos and illustrations in Giles book, recognising the amulet Darla had given her for protection. “Speaking of, we ought to perform a spell to retract the invitation to your house,” Giles noted, making a note of it in his notebook. But Buffy barely paid attention; she clutched the amulet and her mind was reeling from the implications.

Once the dishes were finally taken care of, Giles brought some books and artefacts needed for the ritual to revoke the invitation in his messenger-bag and led the way out. Buffy hadn’t paid any attention to Giles car last night, but in the warm sunlight it caught her attention; a turquoise 1960s Volkswagen Beetle. “Fetching, isn’t it?” Giles asked, seeing Buffy taking in the car. He pulled out his handkerchief and brushed off a tiny speck of dust from the pristine car. He took great pride in his little car, and went to some pains to keep it looking spotless. “It’s a sight for sore eyes,” Buffy agreed as Giles opened the door for her. Not surprisingly the interior appeared wholly original, and just as impeccable as the outside. Giles got in behind the wheel and adjusted the rear-view mirror before starting the engine. “Buffy,” Giles spoke up, breaking her reverie. She turned to look at him, confused. “What?” she asked, meeting his gaze. “The seat-belt,” Giles said, nodding towards her unfastened seat-belt. Buffy quickly put on the seat-belt and gave Giles a thumbs up, and they were off. “Whoa! We’re not in England!” Buffy exclaimed, reacting to Giles driving. Giles quickly caught what she meant and changed lines, muttering something about being unaccustomed to American roads.

Thankfully the rest of the drive proceeded without further mishaps, and they soon found themselves outside 1630 Revello Drive. Giles entered the house with a cross clutched in his hand to fend off any undead fiends. There was no trace of Darla at all; it was like she’d never been there at all, and that awful talk had just been a nightmare. Only the amulet pendant around Buffy’s neck was a reminder of what had transpired. Giles wasted no time getting to work, burning incense and walking through the rooms waving a bouquet of herbs around as he chanted something in Latin. Twice or thrice he paused and looked up the text in his books; the Gothic script the book was typeset with, and the great age of the tome proved a challenge on occasion, even to an experienced librarian and bibliophile like himself. 

With the protection back in place, Giles stayed for another cup of tea, and Buffy managed to convince him to let the incense burn for a while longer. The scent was rather soothing and pleasant; certainly a step in the right direction when compared to garlic. The scent lingered in the air for a while even after Giles had left. When the silence of her own company grew too deafening she called Willow and asked if she wanted to do a sleepover. She was the only one she could really open up to about what was going on.

Buffy looked at her reflection in the mirror after showering; cleaning off the foggy mirror. Pale, slightly bloodshot eyes, looking rather sad she thought. The talisman around her neck caught her eye, and she touched the small iron pendant Darla had gifted her last night. She wore only her oversized t-shirt and baggy sweatpants as she descended the stairs, summoned by the doorbell. “I haven’t had a sleepover in years!” Willow greeted her, sounding excited. “I used to have sleepovers with Xander when we were kids, but then…”  
“Puberty?” Buffy suggested as she ushered Willow inside.  
“Yeah, damn hormones,” Willow said with a sad smile.  
“Do you want anything to eat? I’m famished,” Buffy wondered, heading to the kitchen to rummage the cupboards for anything that didn’t require much in the way of culinary skills in order to be enjoyed. “We’ve got popcorn, maybe a movie?” Buffy suggested, to which Willow nodded appreciatively. “Movie night! What do you have to watch?” Willow’s excitement was back in force, and Buffy glad to have someone so upbeat and giddy around, and she was thrilled to see this side of Willow, a side she didn’t show to anyone other than Xander. “You decide,” Buffy said, loving the way Willow’s eyes lit up at the prospect of picking a movie to watch for their first sleepover.

When Buffy returned with a big bowl of popcorn she found Willow waiting for her on the sofa in the darkened living-room. Willow puts the blanket over them as Buffy joined her. “What’re we watching first?” Buffy wondered. Her query was answered by the opening monologue of The Nightmare Before Christmas. “It’s the perfect film for three whole months of the year! Even when you are going through the post-Halloween depression, Christmas is just around the corner!” Willow enthused. “You don’t celebrate Christmas,” Buffy noted, though it came out sounding like a question. “I do by proxy – I’ve always spent Christmas over at Xander’s hanging out with him and Jesse. It makes me feel festive,” Willow sounded giddy, and not even the mention of Jesse managed to dampen her mood. “What? The songs are really catchy!” Willow defended when she saw the look on Buffy’s face. “The Christmas carols, or the movie songs?” Buffy wondered. “Both, but the movie songs especially,” Willow said with a smile.

As the end credits rolled Buffy manned up and told Willow everything. “You kissed her?” Willow sounded faux-scandalised, even lowering her voice to a near-whisper lest anyone in the neighbourhood might overhear. Buffy blushed, nodded her head; chuckling at the fact that Willow focused on that rather than the fact that Darla had turned out to be a vampire. “And she kissed you back?” Willow pressed, the movie completely forgotten. Again Buffy blushed and nodded. “That’s good right?” Willow sounded unsure “I don’t know,” Buffy confessed. She didn’t want to think too much about why it hurt so much. “But you like her, right?” Willow asked, looking at her dejected friend, and by the emphasis she put on “like” it was obvious to Buffy what the implication was. She had expected that question but dreaded it nonetheless. “Yeah.”  
She was straight as a stake, wasn’t she? She’d never liked any girls like that, not until Darla. She’d never looked at any girl like that, but when Darla looked at her with that sweet smile a plague of butterflies had erupted in her stomach, made her feel light as a feather. Willow embraced her in a hug, and Buffy returned to the fullest. “Maybe she’s like, a good vampire?” Willow suggested hopefully as they broke apart. “There’s good witches, right, so why not good vampires?” Willow explained her reasoning, seeing the look on Buffy’s face. Buffy wanted to believe that – she wanted to believe there were good vampires out there, and most of all she wanted Darla to be one of them, if not the only one. “Vampires have to drink blood to survive,” she found herself pushing back against Willow’s idea. “What if she only drinks blood from evil people?” Willow suggested, not letting it go without a fight. “Also, not all daemons are totally evil, some are just mischievous,” Willow added, sensing Buffy was about to rain on her parade.

Buffy had to admit that description did seem to fit Darla – coy, coquettish smile, seductive, playful, dreamy… evil bloodsucking daemonic fiend…

“Was this all some big joke to her?” Buffy wondered sadly, mostly to herself. “Is that what you think?” Willow responded, seeing the sadness in her friend’s eyes and sensing it in her voice. “I’m not sure,” Buffy admitted, and that doubt hurt her more than anything else. “You’re being very cool with all this,” Buffy said, turning to Willow with a sad smile. Romance was difficult enough without living on an active Hellmouth where eldritch horrors roamed about, almost in broad daylight… Willow had fallen for someone online who turned out to be a daemonic AI, Xander had been head over heels for his new neighbour who turned out to be a mean-eating spider-woman… And she had fallen for a girl – who turned out to be a vampire. “I just want to believe love has a chance, even on the Hellmouth,” Willow responded. “I want that too,” Buffy agreed, getting up to rewind the video. “What do you wanna watch next?” she asked, turning to look at the collection of video tapes. “What about The Craft?” Willow suggested hopefully. Buffy turned to her with a smile. “Yeah, good choice,” she agreed. 

The darkness embraced them as they made their way inside The Bronze; the changing lights ahead, and the music from the band playing calling out to them. She greeted Cordelia who stood by the entrance talking on the mobile phone. How she was able to hear anything over the music was a mystery to Buffy. Her eyes scanned the room and she felt her heart do a double take as she caught sight of the blonde girl who had invaded her dreams and waking thoughts. Darla sat by a table, playing cards with someone she didn’t know; she wore her school girl uniform and her ruby slippers, and a smile too, when she caught sight of Buffy. In the ever-changing multi-coloured neon lights her predator eyes shone in the dark in a way that both excited and scared her to no end. It wasn’t the warm blue eyes she could get lost in, and reduced to her to a mumbling incoherent mess, but they were hers, and the sweet smile was the same. As the lights changed, Buffy saw that Darla’s face was her vampiric one – she was a human predator – a beautiful monster. And she just sat there and played her came of cards with her companions, winking playfully at Buffy who felt her face flush red, though the darkness thankfully hid her reaction nicely.

She felt her mouth go dry as her eyes took in the blonde vampire; svelte and seductive, with clothes that hugged her body, and her predator face framed by her messy blonde hair. Buffy turned to look at her friends for support. Xander doing a thumbs up, Willow smiled at her, and Cordelia was busy on her phone. “Ask her to dance!” Willow suggested, pushing her in the direction of the blonde bloodsucker. It felt like she was walking on air as she approached the table. She stopped, and saw that everyone’s attention was on her. “Wanna dance?” Buffy asked, and thankfully her voice didn’t betray her. Darla smiled, put down her cards and rose to her feet. “Love to,” she said, and the smile on her face revealed her sharp predator teeth.

Darla’s hands moved to her waist, but Buffy didn’t dare move lower and kept them around Darla’s neck as they began to dance. No one seemed to notice the vampiress in their midst, going about their business as usual. In fact, Buffy thought Darla’s card-playing friends had been rather vampy too, but all she could focus on at the moment was the way Darla looked at her, and the smile on her dead discoloured lips. A shadow fell upon them on the dance floor, and the music was drowned out.  
Buffy turned away from Darla to see a towering, hulking figure watching them with a scowl on his face. He looked like a discount Arnold Schwarzenegger with a Caesar cut, rolled up sleeves, bulging muscles, hard-faced… and tall! He towered over Buffy, who had to crane her neck to look at his face.

His lips curled back into a ghastly sneer, revealing his sharp fangs. In his predator eyes there burned a cruelty and a hatred that caught Buffy off guard. Before she even thought of reacting he had punched her in the face and she staggered backwards from the powerful blow. The whole world was a blurry mess, her senses calling out to her of the immediate danger she found herself in, nearly incapacitated by this brutish vampire. She managed to regain her balance and caught sight of the dangerous brute going after Darla; he had his large hand around her neck and lifted her up with the greatest of ease, till she was at face level with him. “You are playing with fire,” he said in a deep, gravely voice before flinging her to the side like a ragdoll.

Buffy ran up to the nearby pool table, and used it as a springboard, jump-kicking the brutish vampire so he cried out in shock as she staggered backwards, landing on the floor. Buffy was surprised his head hadn’t separated from his shoulders by the force of the kick. He sat up and moved his head from side to side. She supposed it would take even more force to break his neck, judging by his bull-neck and hulking frame. He let out a groan and staggered to his feet, closing his fists till there was a sickening cracking sound. Buffy dodged and barely avoided his right hook – the guy was dangerously fast, and he hit like a mack truck. His left hand shot out, and graced Buffy’s face as she turned away from it. Although he was fast Buffy was faster still, and she landed a bone-braking punch to his exposed side. She grabbed one of the cue sticks from the table, and, as her attack lunged for her, drove it up with all her might, sending it up through his lower jaw. The tip of the cue stick shot out through the back of his head just as he disintegrated to dust.

Letting the cue stick fall to the floor with a clatter Buffy brushed her hands. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Her smile was a little strained – that punch had been like a horse kick. She brought a hand up to her face and there was red on it when she looked at it. She could feel her lip had cracked, and she guessed she’d gotten a nosebleed. It’d heal fast enough thanks to her Slayer enhanced body. She only needed something to eat – maybe a low fat Yogurt? All thoughts of food disappeared as she saw Darla step into the light. She broke out into a grin despite the pain, revealing her bloodstained teeth from the bleeding lip, and Darla mirrored the smile, exposing her fangs. Darla ran up to her and jumped up, wrapping her legs around Buffy’s waist. Buffy’s hands held onto her ass, holding her up tight against her own body. Buffy leaned in and captured the vampire’s lips under the changing lights. Darla’s arms wrapped around Buffy’s neck as she slowly pulled back an inch or so from their kiss, biting Buffy’s lower, bloodied lip, eliciting a pleasurable pain; leaving bloody kiss-marks on each other’s lips. As she pulled back and bits his lower lip the sound and background is came back into focus, and Buffy became aware that people were cheering. An audience had gathered around them – her friends, Mom! Giles! Applause, whistling, thumbs up in approval. Cordelia looking disinterested, checking her nails as she’s on the phone – finally putting the mobile hone under her arm and joining the applause – some very mild, almost ironic applause, before going back to her phone conversation.

Buffy turned her attention back to Darla and gazed into those deep-set yellowish eyes that shone eerily in the dark like a cat’s. Her deathly pale skin, ruby-red lips, sharp fangs – bruise-like shadows under her eyes… It all added up to an uncanny effect, like she was halfway betwixt life and death – inhabiting the characteristics of life and death. Her dead, discoloured lips forming that sweet smile. It began to rain – Buffy looked up at the darkness and then back down to see drops of blood landing on them; crimson splotches in their hair, running down their faces.

Buffy woke with a jerk, and it took her a few seconds to get her bearings. She was still in the sofa, next to Willow, and the movie was still going. “It sounded like you were having a nightmare,” Willow told her, a worried look in her eyes. “I was just resting my eyes,” Buffy muttered hoarsely in excuse, her mind reeling from the intense nightmare, or dream, she couldn’t quite decide which.


	6. Bloodlines

The day had been warm and awful, and the coolness of the afternoon was welcomed. Darla had been cooped up in the hotel, unable to rest, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. Even with the glass door to the balcony opened the air felt dense and stifling. She wasn’t sure if it was naturally like this, or if it was the foreboding pressure in the night-air that had grown denser and denser as of late. The hotel room’s colour-palette was in soothing shades of lilac, purple and violet; very relaxing and pleasing to the eye. Darla lay on the large bed with her head off the edge, watching cartoons upside-down on the TV. Her face glowed in the light of the TV as she watched Count Duckula, a vegetarian vampire duck, struggling to hide his vegetarianism from his bloodthirsty relatives; even going to the lengths of disguising himself and teaming up with a vampire hunter to disrupt the centenary family reunion. “It’s just like my life… in a way,” Darla thought, rolling over and getting out of bed as the end credits began.

Some fun was what she needed to distract herself – she was in the City of Sin after all. At least that was the story she’d stick too; that she was there to paint the town red, not because she was hiding from the Slayer. She shuddered as she recalled the hurt, angry look on Buffy’s face, the way her eyes were shining with tears. The fact that she was the reason for that look, the tone in her voice… it was awful, and she hated the fact that the mere hurt look on a teenager’s face had managed to reduce her to such a pitiful state. 

She couldn’t remember the number of people she had killed since her embrace; it had gotten easier and easier to ignore the regret and shame and guilt, till at last she didn’t spare her victims a second thought once she left them. After a while, she couldn’t remember how long, she had even revelled in the bloodshed and mayhem – basking in the freedom of her unlife without restraints. If Buffy knew what she was really like she doubted the Slayer would hesitate to stake her on the spot. How had she allowed herself to entertain the delusion that the young Slayer would ever love a soulless monster? Maybe that was the true sign that what she felt was love? With an exasperated groan she threw her head back and chuckled darkly at her romantic delusions. If she didn’t get out of the room she was gonna lose what was left of her sanity.

A few minutes later she was descended the grand staircase to the lobby; her footfalls silenced by the thick red carpet. A couple in the process of checking in caught her attention, and she observed them behind her blue-tinted Persol sunglasses – two young lovers by the look of things. Darla bit her lower lip, picturing what fun she could have with those two back at her room. They ought to be absolutely delicious. The woman was a blonde and Darla wondered if the carpet matched the drapes. Considering her much darker eyebrows the odds didn’t seem too good. Everywhere she turned there seemed to be a blonde girl catching her eye. Though only one had made a lasting impression on her, managed to sneak into the hole where her heart had once been. A bellhop assisting the couple with their luggage obscured her sight and the spell was broken. No matter, there was plenty of fish in the sea. And with that thought in mind she made her way for the in-house casino. The hotel was one of the posher one along the Strip, and every hotel with any self-respect would have its own casino for the guests to waste their money in. Only, she was more interested in checking out the gambling guests than their games. The casino was dimmed and soothing to her eyes, though the air felt rather oppressive and closed-in. Just like everywhere else as of late, but more blatant she thought. Even after the closed atmosphere of her room the casino did little to alleviate her concerns, though the presence of people was a welcomed distraction. Then there was something else, and far more pleasant – a familiar tingling that made her smile as she scanned the dimmed room.

She caught sight of a tall man with short bleach-blonde hair, and a tall, statuesque woman with dark hair, their backs turned to her. The oppressive atmosphere was forgotten and she felt a wave of relief and excitement on a scale she hadn’t experienced in many decades. She made her way across the room and the mingling gamblers seemed to part for her. “Long time no see,” Darla said, placing a hand on their shoulders. “Nanna!” Drusilla exclaimed, breaking out into a wide smile as she leaned in and kissed her on the cheeks. “Edda, what a pleasant surprise,” Spike greeted, embracing her in a hug. Spike had been a bit of a twat, but he’d grown on her over the decades, and Drusilla loved him so. They were madly in love with each other, and they were strangely perfect for each other. Sorta like a personification of Yin and Yang. Seeing the two of them made her hope, deep down, that even she might find true love. “What’s the occasion? Another honey moon?” Darla wondered, eyeing the two turtle-doves. In reply Drusilla excitedly showed off her new ring on her finger with a bright, infectious smile. “It was so romantic! We were wed by Elvis!” she gushed with a dreamy look on her face. Darla laughed and her heart swelled with pride and love for them. “Only the best for my darling Dru,” Spike said, kissing his wife’s hand. The two of them were dressed in all-white (Spike had even opted for a string tie), and Darla felt like she stood out wearing all-black. Not to mention she was feeling a little jealous of the happy couple. “Congratulations,” she enthused, smiling at them; her eyes shining with tears. “I always cry at weddings,” she excused, faux-embarrassed. Drusilla reached out and brushed away a tear; “Happy tears,” she said with a smile.

“Oh, you have got to meet Laura, my maid of honour!” Drusilla said with a smile, motioning for a girl to join them. Darla eyed the girl, probably just old enough to drink, in her dress. She introduced herself and did a little curtsey, which Darla found rather endearing. The bashfulness was just the cherry on top. She had to hand it to Spike and Drusilla – they knew how to pick ’em. Darla removed her sunglasses and took the offered hand with her sweetest smile. “Delighted to make your acquaintance,” she replied with a wink. “So, you’re old friends?” Laura wondered, looking from Darla to Drusilla and Spike. “She’s family,” Drusilla explained sweetly, breaking away from Spike in order to drag Laura into the embrace as well. Laura let out a chuckle, sensing she was missing out on some in-joke.

Darla suggested they’d head back up to her room to catch up in private, and Laura proved more and eager to join them. Her mood and laughter was infectious, and a welcomed distraction from the turmoil raging in Darla’s head. She was more than willing to let herself be distracted by the happy couple and their charming new friend.

“Mi casa es vuestra casa,” Darla said as she opened the door and led them inside. She fell backward into the deep armchair, letting her feet dangle over the arm-rest and kicked off her shoes. Ever the romantic, Spike lifted Drusilla and carried her over the doorstep into the room. Laura closed the door behind them, and began admiring the view of the cityscape through the windows that made up one side of the room. The curtains had been pulled aside to reveal the panorama of the sprawling cityscape in all its garish glory. 

The presence of Spike and Drusilla – their curious energy was soothing and distracting. Not enough to fully displace the dreadful sensation of a concentrating atmosphere, but a temporary break from it – their infectious mischievous mood was a pleasant change. Even Laura managed to be a welcomed distraction; there was something weirdly sweet about Laura’s youthful naïveté – her trusting, fun-loving and outgoing persona. Woefully unaware of the danger she had put herself in as she eagerly had stepped into the lion’s den without a moment’s hesitation – following a group of strangers masquerading with fake smiles. Spike sauntered over to the stereo system as he loosened his string tie. “I love this song!” she exclaimed, turning away from the view and slowly beginning to dance by her self. Drusilla took Spike’s offered hand and the two of them seemed lost in the moment as they swayed to the music. Darla watched as Laura danced, her eyes closed and seemingly completely absorbed in the moment; when the song ended her eyes opened slowly, as if the spell was broken, and she looked a little bashful. “Laura, tell me a little about yourself,” Darla spoke up, her attention on the guest as the two newly-weds only had eyes for each other. “I’m originally from Colorado, and I’m heading to L.A. – I wanna be an actress,” came the response. “What a trollop!” Spike laughed at Laura admission. Drusilla covered her smile behind her hand; her eyes twinkled with mischief and wickedness. Darla’s own laugh was more due to Spike’s amusing vocabulary, but Laura’s confused, somewhat apprehensive reaction brought another level of amusement to the oddly comic scene.

Laura’s eyes searched theirs for any clue as to what has going on – why the mood had suddenly changed. Drusilla motioned for the nervous girl to come over to her on the bed. When she came within reach Drusilla’s hand closed around Laura’s ivory-skinned neck, adding just enough pressure to keep her from moving or speaking. “I want first bite!” Drusilla purred as she let a finger ghost the exposed skin of Laura’s neck with reverence at the silky smooth feel of the warm skin, and the sensation of the blood rushing just underneath. Then she bit down, her sharp fangs piecing the skin without difficulty. She drank long and deep, and when she finally released the struggling victim her lower face was stained with her blood. Her blood-stained lips curled back into a predatory smile as she watched Laura struggle to get back on her feet. She laughed cruelly as Laura staggered, then stumbled and fell, her legs tangled up in the bedsheets. Laura landed on the thick carpet on the floor with a subdued thud, and began crawling away on her knees screaming for help, one hand still clutching the bleeding bite-wound on her neck, leaving a trail of red on the carpet in her wake.

Darla watched the spectacle in detached silence. Laura cried out in agonised terror as she caught sight of her two companions transformed faces; she staggered to her feet, clutched the bleeding bite-wound on her neck as blood ran down her ivory-skinned chest. The contrast was rather pleasing from an æsthetic point. “You shouldn’t play with your food,” Spike admonished. Drusilla smiled back at him, licking her bloodstained lips with a wicked, playful look in her shining predator eyes. Like a cat playing with a mouse before devouring it. “Ah, screaming relaxes me so,” Drusilla said dreamily and let herself fall back on the bed; her pupils dilated and eyes appearing all black of the blood-induced high.

Spike stepped in and brought an end to Laura’s escape attempt and the screaming; he grabbed her by the neck he held her in a vice-grip and drank deep from the bleeding wound, till at least her movements grew weaker and weaker. Once satisfied he let her body drop to the bunched-up bedsheets on the floor. But her will to live hadn’t been broken, and with weak, stumbling movement Laura crawled away still. Darla closed her eyes and listened to the sound of her frantic heartbeat – beating so fast and hard to make up for the bloodloss, which only sped up her inevitable death. The dying girl’s desperate, pleading doe eyes caught Darla’s – silently begging for help, though she must have realised it was too late. Darla reached out a hand, as if offering help. Her offer was accepted without hesitation, and she effortlessly pulled the girl up into her lap in the chair. With a soothing hushing she stroked the girl’s bloodstained hair. The smell of her blood was intoxicating, and the feeling of under her fingertips was almost euphoric. Laura was too far gone by then, and the spark of life in her big brown eyes was waning, almost gone out; Darla leaned in and kissed the bloodstained neck, lapping up the still-flowing blood from the bite-wound. When she pulled back the eyes had closed; Darla thought Laura looked so sweet and innocent in death – the colour of life still on her cheeks.

With a heavy sigh Darla got up, and gently placed Laura in the chair before she headed for the balcony. She rested her elbows on the balustrade as she admired the sight of the Strip. From a distance the awful traffic sounds were reduced to a tolerable murmur, and the multi-coloured city lights had a certain, undeniable attraction. Even outside, in the cool breeze of night, there was something almost palpable in the air, in the very zeitgeist that had made itself known in the news and the arts and entertainment – a certain heaviness in the atmosphere, a dreadful sense of dreadful suffocation… lots of anxiety. Spike joined her as she pulled out a pack of Blue Master cigarettes she had taken from a tourist and lit one with her new Zippo lighter. “There’s this awful tightening pressure in the night… It’s like I’m slowly choking,” she said in a near-whisper as she handed him the cigarette. “The Harvest,” Spike muttered darkly. “Drusilla’s looking forward to it,” he continued, looking at Darla, gauging her reaction. “And you?” Darla kept her face neutral. Spike huffed and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I love her to death and beyond, but I’m in no hurry to see the world end.”

“That makes two of us,” Darla agreed, exhaling a cloud of smoke and watched it dissipate in the night-air. “It’s so close now… it was faint at first, but it is getting louder and louder,” she said, shuddering. “Seems like everyone’s talking about it – the awakening of the Master,” Spike agreed. Even some of the more boastful newbies and even the daemons seemed apprehensive and rather fearful at the dark rumours surrounding the Harvest – when the Master would wake and quench his insatiable thirst for blood. Everyone who had felt the call seemed to agree that he was somewhere in Sunnydale – near the Hellmouth – trapped and unable to escape on his own. A religious group – vampire hunters – had found his tomb a hundred years ago and sealed it up, keeping him from rising. But no one knew for certain – time had eroded the details, till at last, only a vague rumours were left – little more than a spook story to scare newbies and the superstitious. If it hadn’t been for the change in the night-air, and the length some would go to in order to make the Harvest happen, she would have dismissed it too no doubt. The Order of Aurelius had been making waves lately, recruiting new followers, looking for anything that could help them pin down the exact location of the Master’s tomb.

“Heard your boy is leading them – the Order,” Spike said, and at that she turned to look at him. “Those pikeys really did a number on him,” he chuckled darkly and Darla joined him with a mirthless chuckle in agreement. The mention of her lost “son” was more painful to her than she’d want to admit. Not even the satisfaction she had felt after the swarthy gipsies had been massacred could make up for the loss of him. He would never be the same; just a sad, angry shadow of his former self – cursed with a soul, yet forced to drink blood and endure the torment of guilt and sorrow. Apparently he was eager to get it over and done with if he was leading that doomsday cult. “Hey, you wanna hear something messed up?” Darla asked as she exhaled a large cloud of cigarette smoke. “Shoot,” Spike said, turning to look at her. “I’ve fallen in love with the Slayer,” Darla said, a self-deprecating look on her face. Spike broke out in laughter, coughed, then laughed more, till a thought him him, then he turned to look at her. “Wait, you serious?” he asked. She nodded her head in response, and he laughed even harder. “Stupid sexy Slayer,” Darla huffed as she flicked the end of the cigar off the balcony, watching its descent towards the pavement below. “That’s funny, but actually it’s kinda sad,” Spike said, going through a range of emotions in very little time. The curtains behind them rustled slightly, and Drusilla joined them, wearing only a flimsy unfastened silk nightgown – her lower face and mouth still painted red with Laura’s blood. She stepped into the space between them, placing an arm on their shoulders. “I had the strangest dream,” she began in a dreamy voice, squeezing her companions for support. “Yeah?” Spike looked at her, as she leaned in and rested her forehead against his. “I was standing in a forest clearing on a cool autumn night, admiring the beautiful bloodmoon when a shadow fell upon the world.” Drusilla shivered, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she continued. “There was a whisper in the wind, and it both filled me with dread and excited me.” Darla looked at her as she spoke, and she saw that Drusilla had a faraway look in her eyes.

Spike kept a practised façade of indifference, but Darla didn’t bother to hide the shudder; a deep chill set into her body, and in her mind, where it found ample nutrition to grow among her pre-existing worries and fears. She knew from first-hand experience that Drusilla had a twisted kind of foresight – clairvoyance – that sometimes she was able to correctly interpret and put into words so that others could understand. Drusilla’s eyes were dilated, almost entirely black, and the look in them was distant. “And the whisper urged me on, and led me forward, guiding my way in the blackness,” Drusilla continued, looking at Darla. “The path led me north and down, and it was so cold,” again Drusilla shuddered as she hugged herself. “At last I found myself in a cavern filled with many people, and you were there, and I called out your name, but there was no response…” Drusilla turned to look at Darla and her voice sounded sad. Darla felt like she was gazing into an infinite abyss; there was nothing she could hide as the abyss gazed back into her. Drusilla’s voice dropped to a near-whisper as she continued: “And then all went dark, and I couldn’t see your colour.” Darla closed her eyes, unable to take the gaze any longer, and she held onto the balustrade for support, like it was an anchor grounding her to reality. Then it was as if the spell was broken, and when Drusilla blinked her eyes had lost their faraway look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The “Count Duckula” (1988-1993) episode referenced is titled “Family Reunion” and is the 26th episode in Season/Series 1: https://invidio.us/watch?v=NrThA-iBiw4  
> * “Edda” is Old Norse for “great-grandmother”, and is also the name given to collections of poems and tales of the Norse Myths, and with Spike being a poet, he would conceivably be familiar with the collections and the meaning of the word. It felt like a more fitting greeting than the clunky “great-grandmother” or simply using her name, as there would be a great deal of intimacy and familiarity between the vampiric “blood relatives”.  
> * The original hotel they were staying at was Bellagio, but since that opened on 15 Oct 1998 and the first season of BtVS takes place in 1997, I opted for an unnamed hotel along the Strip instead. This change meant that I had to cut a minor paragraph where Darla admires the glass flowers (“Fiori di Como” by Dale Chihuly) in the Bellagio lobby when she checks in.  
> * Drusilla’s line “screaming relaxes me so” is a nod to horror hostess Vampira (Maila Nurmi): https://invidio.us/watch?v=gs0ehPgyD3U – Drusilla is also the name of the vampire horror hostess in the EC horror comics of the 1950s.


	7. Ex Machina

Drusilla hummed along to the music playing in the elevator, her eyes closed and a dreamy, peaceful look on her face. Spike was adjusting his string tie and his cuff links. Darla watched them with heavy-lidded eyes, feeling rather detached from everything. The blood-induced high was slowly but surely wearing off, and in her mind she was looking for some distraction to keep her mind from worrying about what lay ahead – the Harvest. With a ding the doors slid open, exposing the cool underground parking lot. After the warmth inside the hotel proper, the cool air was a welcomed change – even the smell of gas, diesel, oil and engines was but a mild nuisance.

Spike took Drusilla’s hand and the they danced down the aisle between the parked cars, with Darla following at a languid pace, hands in her pockets. Spike lifted her up, earning a delighted laugh from her, and they moved round and round in a mockery of a wedding dance. Out of the blue Drusilla brought their attention to a black Lamborghini Diablo. “I want that one!” she exclaimed excitedly, pointing at the car in question.

Spike rolled his eyes at the rather ostentatious vehicle of choice, but put her down and began to work his magic on the car. Drusilla seemed giddy – the oppressive mood of the hotel room seemingly forgotten. Darla looked around, finding the massive parking lot all but deserted; only distant sounds of someone about to commit a DUI, if their drunken ramblings were any indication. With the door-lock picked Spike dove in and began to work on the alarm. “Easy peasy!” he announced, once the pesky alarm had been silenced with practised ease. He pulled out a cigarette and searched his pockets for a lighter, but came up short. “Take mine, I’ve no need of it,” Darla said, offering him her Zippo lighter. He accepted it with a raised eyebrow. “I’m quitting smoking,” she admitted. “You’re getting soft,” he told her, guessing at her motive. “Am not,” she protested petulantly pouting. “Love makes fools of us all…” he admitted, looking at his dearly beloved, who admired the car, then looked over to him and blew him a kiss.

Drusilla moved over to Darla and took her hands. “I know what lurks in your lusting heart,” she whispered into her ear as she leaned in and kissed her cheeks. Darla closed her eyes and sighed. Drusilla brought her nose into contact with Darla’s, and she opened her eyes, seeing the look of understanding in her eyes. “Do give us a visit soon, yeah?” Drusilla said pulling away. Darla nodded her head and smiled. The awful, oppressive atmosphere was pushed aside for the moment, and Drsuilla’s attention was entirely on the Lamborghini.

She watched the speeding Diablo disappear from view. The night-air was pleasantly cool, and she basked in the refreshing coolness, walking around aimlessly on the Strip; just keeping in motion and her senses distracted – she was like a human shark prowling the Strip; if she stopped it felt like she’d die.

Giles ducked for cover, narrowly avoiding the vampire being flung through the air. It crashed into the headstone with a sickening thud, taking off a bit of the top. “Oops! Sorry!” Buffy apologised. “No harm done!” Giles spoke up as he emerged from his cover. “I beg to differ!” the vampire groaned in protest, rubbing the back of his head as he crawled back to his feet with some difficulty. “Yeah, you’ve ruined that gravestone!” Buffy pointed out, reprimanded the dazed vampire. “I’ll desecrate your gravestone after I’ve put you six feet under!” the vampire retorted, throwing itself headfirst into the fight again. “At least I’ll have a grave – you’ll be a pile of dust on the ground!” Buffy shot back, dodging the blows just in time as she got her snappy comeback out. Giles frowned at the way the two combatants kept firing each other up, getting more and more sloppy in both their punches and their verbal comebacks. Before long they would be reduced to rolling around on the ground shouting obscenities at each other.

With an angered yell Buffy was knocked off her feet. She landed on her ass, but managed to roll out of reach as the vampire tried to stomp her head in. In a lightning fast move Buffy grabbed hold of his leg and brought him down on the ground next to her. Due to his length he knocked his head into the same headstone he had been thrown against earlier, and the sickening cracking sound as something gave was followed a low groan. The blow had apparently caused some damage to the vampire’s motor skills, but the spasms and tics caught Buffy off guard as she went in for the coup de grâce with her stake. Her hand was knocked away and the stake went flying off into the night. Buffy cried out in annoyance more than pain, though she aggressively rubbed her hand to lessen the pain. “He got me with his ring! He’s fighting dirty!” Buffy protested pointing at the grounded vampire, then showed off her wounded hand to Giles. “Good thing I’ve got a first-aid kit with me,” he said, handing her the lost stake. “No amount of band-aids will fix you up when I’m through with you,” the vampire groaned in his drunken-sounding slurred speech, likely brought on from the serious headache the brutal impact with the headstone.

Buffy, again armed with her stake, turned her full attention back to the annoying bloodsucker; her right hand grasped the stake till her knuckles turned white. Not only had the vampire proved harder to defeat than normal, but he had managed to make her look bad in front of her Watcher. No more fancy twirls or moves or clever banter – it was time to end the fight without further mishaps or accidents. She spun around and struck – the stake pierced the bloodsucker right eye and cut into the head like a knife through hot butter. With the amount of force behind the blow the stake was completely buried in the skull; eye-juice and blood flowed freely from the wound, but to Buffy’s astonishment the vampire did not immediately turn to dust. “Pierce the heart or cut off the head!” Giles reminded her with a grimace of disgust at the gruesome sight of the impaled bloodsucker trying to remove the foreign object firmly planted into its eyesocket with uncoordinated and feeble movements. Buffy’s nose wrinkled in revulsion at the morbid sight and sound, and looked around for another weapon to expedite the bloodsucker to the eternal damnation of the afterlife. Panic was starting to set in, but Giles had had the foresight to bring more than one stake. “Go for the heart this time!” he advised as Buffy took the stake.

Buffy nodded her head and quickly moved in on the downed bloodsucker. Its ghastly groaning, surprisingly pitiful and infantile, caused goosebumps to erupt on her skin, and the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. Her anger had turned to revulsion and desperation, and the bloodsuckers groans and jerky movements did not help matters. She used her left hand to try and hold him in place as she lined up the pointy end of the stake over his heart. “Hold still!” she admonished, just as she went in for the killing blow. But luck was not with them it seemed, and the bloodsucker’s violent convulsions caused her to miss the heart, instead piercing the lung. A ghastly gasp from the bloodsucker ended his pitiful groans, and Buffy was quick to pull the stake back out and go for another strike. Finally there was an end to the farcical fight and the vampire turned to dust. Or not quite, there was something else as well… Giles, who had become rather pale and was feeling somewhat nauseous, nonetheless noticed something metallic amongst the dust, and he knelt down and picked up a ring, with his fountain pen. He held it up and examined it in the light of his keyring flashlight. There was a curious symbol, or insignia on it – a sort of signet ring? “Curiouser and curiouser…” he muttered, examining it from any inscriptions on the inside.

Buffy was thankful for the distraction, fearing she would be subject to another lesson on the importance of accuracy and speed in combat. Giles pulled out a small plastic bag and dropped the ring into it. “How come that ring was left, but all his clothes turned to dust too?” Buffy wondered, looking at the dust-shape on the ground, reminding her of a bizarre chalk outline at a crime scene, defusing some of the awfulness of the botched slaying.

Giles was taken by surprise by the question, and shook his head to clear his mind. “We might have interrogated him,” Giles argued, ignoring Buffy’s question, looking a bit flustered. “You mean ‘good Watcher, bad Slayer’?” Buffy asked with a raised eyebrow. “Something like that,” Giles replied, pulling out his notebook to make a summa summarum of the night’s patrol.

Buffy looked antsy – like she dreaded something, yet was looking forward to it as well. She wasn’t sure how she would handle seeing Darla again. It had been two days and nights since things had taken a turn for the worse. And since then she had been caught between dreading her return, and looking forward to it. “I suppose we could call it a night,” Giles suggested, checking his pocketwatch. He thought Buffy could do with a break from the patrol. “I’ve got some books I need to look through, and the symbol on this ring…” Giles trailed off as they headed back to the parking lot where his turquoise Beetle was parked. “Need a lift home?” he asked, looking Buffy, who seemed rather lost in thought. “Nah, I’m heading over to the Bronze,” she replied, shaking her head.

Giles nodded in response and they split up. No doubt Buffy hoped and dreaded a certain blond bloodsucker would be there. Giles hoped she would be ready for the meeting when it happened – whether it ended in heartbreak and catastrophe or a sort of understanding, it would at least be better to get it over with.

After falling asleep in his sofa the previous night, looking for any information on the signet ring’s symbol, he had spent another few hours in the morning, but all in vain. He had looked through all the usual tomes and grimoires, finding only vague similarities to the more basic symbol on the ring. It did not seem like a sigil or bindrune, but rather like one of the Germanic “house marks”. Perhaps the symbol of a vampiric family or clan or deviant vampire cult. Sadly the Council’s registry of esoteric symbols connected to vampire families or clans left a lot to be desired. The old bloodsuckers families were highly secretive, bordering on paranoid, jealously guarding their secrets from the outside world. Only vague rumours and scraps of intercepted communication between members gave the Council any insight to the inner workings of the vampiric societies and families.

Vampire cults were less secretive, often actively recruiting others into their fold. Perhaps last night’s unlucky bloodsucker had been a member of a debased doomsday cult? He took a sip from his tea-cup, but found that it had long-since gone cold. He looked up as the old grandfather clock began to strike the hours, and saw that he was running late. He brought with him a stack of books for perusal at the library during lunch break, placed them gently in the passenger seat, before he took off down the quiet suburb in his Beetle.

Miss Calendar greeted him as he made his way down the hallways to the library. “I’m so glad you’ve decided to reconsider the scanning project,” Jenny said as she fell into step with him. “We’ve of course taken some safety precautions to prevent a reprise of what happened earlier,” Jenny began, going into some technical detail to assure his worried about the digitalising process. Giles nodded in agreement, mostly pretending to understand the process, but then a thought hit him. “Would it be possible to scan, or digitise, a symbol and compare it against other symbols on the World Wide Web?”

“Yes, that shouldn’t be difficult,” she confirmed, smiling at his sudden interest in the digital side to research. “Excellent!” he enthused, pushing open the library doors for them. “As long as you are sure this symbol doesn’t unlock some evil force when it is scanned,” she added for good measure.

Before long Giles had produced an ink stamp of the symbol using the signet ring, and Miss Calendar had booted up the computer. Line by line loaded onto the computer screen, and the entire symbol finally was ready – enhanced and easily distinguishable. While Miss Calendar worked her magic on the computer Giles popped off into the backroom, and returned carrying a tray with a mug of tea and some biscuits. “Any luck?” he wondered, setting the tray down on the table and looking at the screen. “Yes! A few,” Jenny replied, smiling as she saw the tea and biscuits he had brought them. How delightfully English! A true home away from home.

“A few matches from scanned books in libraries across the world… ancient Greek and Roman texts,” she continued, accepting Giles offer of a drop of milk in the tea. “Some sect called the Order of Aurelius,” Jenny went on, reading the description of the collection in question. “The name rings a bell,” Giles confirmed, his brows furrowed as he tried to recall the origin of the name. At least they knew the symbol was associated with a cult, apparently of ancient Greek or Roman origin.

Giles reached out and retrieved one of the as of yet unread books he he had brought from home. “Eureka!” he exclaimed, his index-finger pointing at the books table of contents, before quickly finding the correct page. “The Order of Aurelius…” he read, seeing the same symbol on the parchment in the book. “Aurelius is the Roman, or Latinised, name of an ancient bloodsucker, first mentioned by Herodotus in his ‘Histories’ written before 425 BC,” he continued, summarising the contents as he went along. “He was ancient even back then, and his followers, considered him a forefather and king, some even a divinity – a blood god – and they attributed a series of writings to him; anti-natalist and nihilistic in nature, they prophecy his return during an event often translated as ‘the Harvest’,” Giles continued, his tea completely forgotten in the rush of excitement.

He looked up from the book and took a sip from his tea cup. It was a lot of information to process, and he had to admit that Miss Calendar’s digitalising technology had been instrumental in their research. 

“You’ve been holding out on me?” Jenny asked, smiling, nodding towards the tome before them.  
“It is not part of the school library’s collection,” he excused. “I didn’t know high school librarians studied this kind of literature…” she let the sentence trail of, studying him with interest. He was unable to hide the blush and fought to keep his voice steady. He was not used to being the subject of attention from the opposite sex, at least not from someone like Miss Calendar.  
“Book collecting is a hobby of mine,” he excused, quickly moving on to avoid any questions that would require him to lie. He didn’t want to lie to her if it could be avoided. The Slayer, and his role as Watcher would have to be a secret, but he could admit an interest in the Occult, and in collecting esoteric tomes.

“Could you look up something else for me, on the World Wide Web?” he asked, hoping to change the subject. “Sure, just say the word,” she responded, ready to type. “Not a word – a name,” clarified. “Darla”. Jenny’s fingers stopped for a moment, then she finished typing the name. He watched her swallow, and she appeared to have something at the tip of her tongue, but she said nothing until her search came back. Whatever search engine she used, it gave her some interesting results. Nothing certain though, mostly rumours and vague, possible mentions. None of it ‘good’ though. Should he tell Buffy at such an early point in the investigation? He would at least remind her to be careful and keep her expectations in check. His Slayer could be under no delusion that Darla was ‘good’. It would be a false sense of security, and it might give her hope – hope that there was something where there was nothing to be found but a dangerously deranged bloodthristy killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By far the most difficult chapter to write so far. This chapter has changed a lot from when I began writing it, and for the longest time it seemed to bring my writing to a standstill. When I began writing this story I did not have anything planned, and I let the chapters take the story wherever they went. After a few chapters I did begin to plan ahead, and I do have the rest of the story sketched out in various stages of completion. This was the only chapter giving me trouble, and hopefully the rest will be easier to write.
> 
> The chapter originally introduced Angel, and featured a longer bit with Darla in Las Vegas, where she sang karaoke in a bar on the Strip (Frank Sinatra’s “May Way”); then she ran into Luke instead, but I found it necessary to move the story in Sunnydale ahead instead, and this chapter sets up some important things for future chapters.
> 
> * House marks were used in Scandianvia and Germany as a mark of ownership by families/kins, and were often used as a symbol of that family/kin, similar to the coat of arms of the nobility: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/House_mark  
> * Histories by Herodotus is a real book, and the mention was inspired by Zalmoxis, who is first mentioned in that text: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zalmoxis


	8. Stung with Love

Darla sat on the roof the Sunnydale City Hall, her feet dangling over the edge, moving to and fro, her attention on an old book, her cat eye sunglasses pushed up. Everything was so quiet and peaceful and beautiful at night; the many street lights disappearing into the darkness, the soft warm glow through the curtained windows. She loved watching Sunnydale at night – not that she had much opportunity to watch it during daytime, but she couldn’t help but think everything looked better at night. At least on the surface; she knew only too well what shared the night with them, and she could guess at even more loathsome beings she hadn’t personally seen, only heard whispered fearful rumours of.

She hadn’t had a cigarette since she left Vegas, and she was getting antsy – her feet dangled back and forth restlessly. But she fought it; she didn’t want her clothes to smell like smoke, mostly for Buffy’s sake. She didn’t think the Slayer would appreciate the scent of cigarette smoke on her clothes. She was getting soft. Worrying what some high school girl thought! And not just any high school girl, but the Slayer, destined to kill vampires, who had fled from her last they had seen each other. She couldn’t forget that look of hurt and anger in those green eyes.

She’d snatched the book from the latest victim’s dorm room as she left; trying to deduce the history behind the illustrations in “The West Wing” had had kept her amused and occupied for the last half-hour or so. But guessing what ghastly deeds had transpired in the time-eaten mansion could only hold her attention for so long. She put down the book and turned her attention to the sleeping town around her.

As she approached Sunnydale the choking sensation got stronger and stronger; the curiously oppressive atmosphere, an undeniable sense of dread slowly enveloping her. It felt like it was slowly choking her to death, pushing into her thoughts and tainting all her thoughts with fear. The only temporary escape was to find something to distract herself. From her vantage point she had a nice view of Shady Hill, one of Sunnydale’s twelve graveyards, encircled by a stone wall and hedge. Night mist on the grass… All very Gothic and atmospheric, if one appreciated that æsthetic. She was certain the book’s previous owner would appreciate it if she had been able to.

She considered heading for The Bronze, but something held her back. She’d run a not insignificant risk of running into the Slayer. But it was too early to head back. She’d go mad having to spend the rest of the night and the following day all cooped up inside for that long with only the TV or the radio to keep the silence from overwhelming her senses. 

She got up and leaped for one of the nearby flagpoles, sliding down it like a firefighter. The rush of cool night-air felt soothing against her skin, but all too soon she found herself at the bottom, once more surrounded by the still night. She started walking without a goal in mind, just following the empty streets. For a while she found some childish amusement in running on the top of the parked cars, jumping from car to car down the street, setting off the alarms of them. When she had reached the end of State Street she left behind a cacophony of alarms and flashing car-lights.

Some passers-by was her only audience; some seemed bemused by her antics, others shook their head and seemed to be bemoaning the youth and their lack of respect and decency. Nonetheless she did a polite curtsey to her audience, before taking off. With that immature tomfoolery out of her system she spent time window-shopping on Maple Court, and lollygagging around the empty playground in Radcliff Park to stall for time. Without someone to share her playful outlook on life, there wasn’t much fun to be had – the seesaw just wasn’t the same when she was all alone. The swings were the obvious choice for someone as lonely and as bored as her.

A tingling sensation made her stop the swing with her feet against the sandy ground and look around; had she been followed? Her silly display of triggering the car alarms could have been noticed by the long arm of the law. But as the seconds passed in silence, the sensation became clearer, more pronounced. She wasn’t sure if she should stand her ground or flee into the peace and safety of the dark night till she saw the elfin figure of a familiar blond high school student stepping into the pool of light of a street lamp.

“Are you stalking me now?” Darla asked, half amused, taking in the Slayer, trying to gauge where they now stood. Though her tone was playful, she felt a growing sense of nervousness. Her heart swelled with hope as she caught sight of the amulet necklace around Buffy’s neck. She’d kept it! But she reminded herself that hope was a dangerous thing.

“You’ve been gone,” Buffy stated, stopping and watching the solitary figure on the swings. “Out of town – a surprise family reunion,” Darla offered as an explanation. “But you’re back now?” Buffy asked, coming to a standstill a few meters away. “Yeah, I couldn’t stay away,” Darla responded with a sad smile, looking down at her shoes. 

“Listen…” both of them spoke up at the same time. “Aw-shucks!” Darla faux-laughed, her eyes downcast, looking at her shoes once more. It felt like the Slayer’s eyes were able to see through her façade, see into her mind, into the places her soul had once been, and she didn’t want Buffy to see what had taken its place; the hungry predatory daemon within her. 

“Was it all an act?” Buffy asked, sound unusually fragile. “No!” Darla quickly spoke up – dead serious – she got up, but stopped short of approaching the Slayer. Instead she folded her hands, wrung them nervously. “I still have feelings,” Darla stated, finally daring to meet Buffy’s gaze. Buffy shook her head, as if physically trying to shake off Darla’s comforting words, preventing her from entering her mind. “I want to believe there is some good left in you,” Buffy near-whispered.

“You’re the all-American sweetheart, the Slayer – the saviour of the world, and I’m an undead bloodsucking parasite,” Darla began, finding it hard to endure the Slayer’s scrutinising gaze, yet finding herself drawn to those expressive green eyes searching for any indication of truth and hope and goodness she could hold onto and relieve her worries. “I’m not a goody-two-shoes like you, but I’m not gonna sit by and watch the world end either,” Darla finished, a sad smile playing on her lips. Buffy took a step closer, but Darla held up her right hand, as if indicating a barrier between them.

“Do you know the story of the scorpion and the frog?” Darla asked as she lowered her hand, looking at Buffy with sadness in her eyes. The blond Slayer nodded her head, but remained silent. “If you trust me, sooner or later, you will get stung,” Darla finished with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I am already stung,” Buffy near-whispered, as if she was afraid to utter the words. Yet she came closer still, and Darla didn’t raise her hand again, instead settling for standing her ground – silently daring Buffy to come closer, to cross the invisible barrier separating them.

When Buffy took the last few steps, Darla revealed her true, vampiric face to her – challenging the Slayer to look at her true colours. There was a self-conscious, surprisingly anxious look in those yellow predator eyes looking back at Buffy. The Slayer let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding in; feeling both hypersensitive and numb of her surroundings at the same time.

As Buffy made a move Darla shied away, embarrassed at her monstrous daemonic nature, and fearful of the Slayer’s reaction. Some part of her knew that she’d only shown herself to Buffy so that the Slayer would push her away. It was the right thing to do – dragging out whatever was going on between them would only cause more pain and hate.

Buffy’s hand reached out and gingerly ghosted the pale cheek, causing Darla to look back at her, and Buffy held the gaze, looking deep into the shining predator eyes staring back at her, searching their depths for any indication of the girl she had crushed on. “I see you,” she murmured, caressing Darla’s cheek. She’d never expected to see vulnerability in a vampire’s eyes, but there it was, and love and admiration too. Predator eyes blinked as Darla’s undead heart ached with emotions she hadn’t felt since her embrace. A tear of blood trickled down Darla’s cheek, leaving a crimson trail against her ivory-skinned perfection. Buffy’s thumb ghosted the skin and wiped away the blood-tear, leaving only a faint reddish stain on the pale skin.

Darla found herself leaning into the touch, relishing in the soft, intimate touch reserved only for her, despite all odds. There were no words that could express what she felt and thought, so, instead, she closed the distance between them, slowly, giving Buffy time to move away if she wanted. Instead Buffy met her halfway, and their lips touched.

Their first kiss had been quick and awkward, and ended in disaster, but with Buffy knowing the truth and still seeking more contact, it was perfect, despite the lead-up. For a few moments all worries were washed away from their minds, and Darla sensed the blond Slayer’s pulse quicken in response – her beating heart beating in the sweetest melody she ever heard; singing for her!

When they pulled away, Darla saw the effect of the kiss in those dilated green eyes, and the sound of her breathing and the quickened pace of her heart. There was the faintest hint of a blush on her face too, and Darla bit her lower lip as she took in the sight of the Slayer before her – drinking in her appearance and the tell-tale signs of her affections for the undead bloodsucker who had managed to defy her nature and show love despite her daemonic nature.

“Come, I wanna show you something!” Darla took Buffy’s warm hand in her own and led them off. Her face had changed back to her human self without her noticing; she felt light and pleasantly numb, and that numbness kept the nervousness and the awkwardness at bay. She was, however, absolutely aware of how Buffy’s hand felt in her own; warm, soft and delicate and like it was made to fit hers perfectly.

“Have you ever been here?” Darla asked as they approached one of the entrances to Sunnydale Botanical Gardens, crossing the moon-dappled Oak Lawn. “Not after sundown,” Buffy said with a laugh, surprised, though only a little embarrassed, by how husky her voice sounded. “You’ve been missing out! I wanna show you all the colours of the night!” Darla laughed playfully, squeezing their clasped hands as she pushed open the ornate wrought iron gates with her free hand.

Ahead of them lay the Gardens’ artificial hollow way and they were embraced by the darkness underneath the branches overlapping and forming a tunnel overhead. Now and then they crossed flecks of moonlight on the ground, as the foliage overhead gave away, and Buffy glimpsed the autumnal shades, and the vaguely bioluminescent mushrooms as they hurriedly made their way to some destination Darla had in mind.

A circular wooden gate in a low stone wall opened up to a traditional Japanese Zen garden, illuminated by the gibbous moon and multiple red paper lanterns, glowing faintly, like glow-worms in the silent night. Only the occasional sound of a Shishi-odoshi somewhere nearby, and the trickling sound of water could be heard – all other artificial sounds of human civilisation thankfully drowned out.

They sat down by an outdoor koi pond under the light of the overhead paper lanterns, revealing several colourful koi swimming in the water amongst the tropical night-blooming water lilies in various colours. Darla leaned in close to take in the pleasant scent of the night-blooming flowers, sighing contentedly in appreciation. “This flower only blooms at night,” she said admiringly, letting her fingers ghost the delicate ghostly white petals.

Buffy watched the large white flowers in full bloom, given a reddish tint by the paper lanterns. She’d never really thought there would be anything worthwhile to be found in a garden after sundown, but all around her she saw delicate, beautiful flowers in full bloom at night-time; their beauty highlighted by the dimmed surroundings, making the contrast all the more enthralling and delightful to behold.

Closing her eyes, she took in the scent of the blooming flowers, and basked in the pleasant coolness of night. When she opened her eyes again she saw the star-littered night-sky and the moon reflected in the dark, still surface of the pond, and watched as Darla leaned in and let her index finger glide through the water, creating small waves that distorted the reflection of the night-sky, and gradually became smaller and smaller, till again the surface was a still, reflective mirror. In the light of the red paper lanterns the water seemed darkly red, as if Darla’s slender and pale fingers were gliding through blood.

Their peaceful moment was rudely interrupted by a patrolling nightwatchman – thankfully he belonged to the sort of nightwatchman who announced his presence in advance, calling out and using his flashlight to illuminate the dark corners of the gardens. Darla let out a sigh of annoyance as she got up, trying her hand on her plaid school girl skirt. She sought out Buffy’s hand and together they took off down the opposite path, through a dry garden, though they both made sure to avoid ruining the rock garden’s carefully made patterns in the gravel. Someone had clearly gone to great length with a rake to make faux-ripples in the gravel, and Darla thought it would be bad Karma to trample it all, so instead she led the way, gracefully stepping from stone to stone.

Darla felt a thrill at the contact and the two of them running away from the law together, or at least a bumbling nightwatchman of a botanical garden. They hurriedly made their way down darkened walkpaths between sweet-scented flowers and bushes, side by side and hands still clasped. Without difficulty, or much fear of being caught, they reached an ivy-clad wall, marking the edge of the botanical gardens. In a flash they had both scaled the wall and dropped down to the pavement on the other side. Buffy took a moment to catch her breath after the escape through the gardens, and took Darla’s hand, guiding it to her chest so she could feel the beating of her heart. Darla smiled at the feeling of the blonde Slayer’s thumping heart under her palm, her eyes fluttering shut as she imagined the pulsing blood through her veins.

“It’s getting late,” Buffy finally spoke up, as Darla let her hand drop to her side as Buffy’s pulse quickly was back to normal. “Want a ride?” Darla asked, a playful, almost mischievous look on her face as she saw Buffy’s slight confusion at the offer. “Jump on!” Darla said simply, turning around, offering the Slayer a piggyback ride. “Onwards!” Buffy exclaimed, jumping up, and wrapping her arms and legs around Darla. Buffy leaned her chin against Darla’s shoulder, her cheek flush against the other blonde’s neck, as Darla carried her down the streets amongst swirling autumn leaves, and in an out of pools of light from the street lamps on the pavement.

All too soon they reached Revello Drive, and Darla stopped in the driveway of 1630. A breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, but otherwise things were silent. Buffy let go of her hold on Darla, and threw a glance towards her house. Lights were still on. That was a good sign, though she had no doubt her mom would have waited up till she got home no matter how late. The moment was curiously charged, though neither of them spoke up, simply standing next to each other, waiting for the other to be the one to break the silence. Without a word Darla placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her up to the entrance. Stalling the departure just a little while longer, holding onto every second. Buffy thought back to the last time they had been standing there, outside her home. This time, however, her mom was home, and just then the door opened and they found themselves illuminated by the warm, soft light from the entryway as Joyce had seemingly wondered what took Buffy so long.

“Hello, Mrs. Summers!” Darla greeted without missing a beat, extending her hand, and flashing Joyce her sweetest smile. “Sorry for keeping Buffy so long,” she added with a faux-guilty look. The implication that Buffy was late because she was studying was one Joyce seemed eager to accept or want to believe, and she took Darla’s offered hand and shook it. Buffy hoped Darla wouldn’t go on to say something clichéd and lewd, like they had been studying for an anatomy test, but thankfully Darla didn’t elaborate on what it was they were supposed to have studied. “I’m Darla by the way, it is nice to meet you Mrs. Summers,” Darla went on, taking the lead as Buffy felt slightly awkward and would have struggled to find the right words. "Oh, please, call me Joyce. Wouldn’t you like to come in?” Joyce said, stepping to the side to allow them in. “Another time, I really should get home,” Darla excused, looking over at Buffy, who had yet to speak up after her mom had interrupted their goodnight. “Later,” Darla said, smiling at Buffy, before turning to Joyce and doing a small, polite curtsey before she turned and disappeared into the night.

Joyce appeared pleased that Buffy had made a helpful friend like Darla, and wasn’t out at night being a delinquent, though it was obvious she was curious about the blonde in the school girl uniform. “She seems nice,” Joyce began after Buffy made it inside and closed the door. Buffy simply hummed in agreement, too distracted by the night’s events to sit down and try to come up with a cover story. She didn’t like lying to her mom, but how could she begin to tell her about Darla? “I’m really tired so I think I’ll go to bed,” Buffy excused, kissing her mom goodnight and quickly ascending the stairs.


	9. A Dream Within a Dream

Buffy was walking home from school. It was a pleasant, if somewhat sultry afternoon, and the clouds had a curious look and tint to them. Her mom was probably working late at the museum exhibition she thought as she unlocked the door. She put down her backpack and removed her shoes, before heading for the kitchen. Grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl she walked into the living-room, but came to a standstill as a sound broke the silence; muffled and distorted, yet undeniable. It came from the basement, and sounded like something hitting the floor. “Mom?”

There was no response, and no further sounds could be heard, but the silence wasn’t comforting in the least. A blindingly bright flash of lightning startled her, and it was almost immediately followed by a loud crack of thunder. It had become quite dark outside, close to dusk, and the wind was picking up, causing the backdoor to slam. Her mom must have forgotten to close the backdoor when she left; Buffy took a bite of the apple as she headed for the backdoor to close it. Sure enough, the door was ajar, moving in the gathering wind.

A curious light from outside piqued her interest, urged her onwards. When she walked out the oddly reddish light enveloped her. The back garden was bathed in the darkly red light, and Buffy titled her head backwards to see its source – a magnificent blood moon, full and radiant against the inky black night-sky. Spectral, captivating and spell-binding, the blood moon was both hauntingly beautiful and otherworldly eerie at the same time. A warm wind blew, whirling the autumn leaves around, and Buffy listened intently at the low, wailing sound carried by the wind, or maybe it was the wind itself. Low, distorted and ominous, it made her wonder where it originated, and vague images filled her mind; trans-cosmic gulfs beyond time and space – the shadow-haunted outside. A ghastly murmur from somewhere else, outside of sane reality.

Buffy stood frozen to the ground, unable to look away from the spectral blood moon and the countless twinkling stars. Tears were forming in her eyes, though she couldn’t tell why; her attention fixed on the sky. She felt an overwhelming thrill of anxiety at the sense of distance and size; a most dreadful feeling of absolute powerlessness and infinity. She felt a warm metallic liquid on her upper lip and leaking into her mouth.

She woke to find her mom gently shaking her. “You had a nightmare,” Joyce said soothingly, looking at her with worried eyes. Buffy blinked the sleep away, her mind swimming from the weird, eerie dream or nightmare, and it quickly began to fade into obscurity – half-remembered images and sensations becoming distorted in waking state. “You’re bleeding, Honey,” Joyce informed her, handing Buffy a tissue. Buffy brought her fingers up to feel and when she lowered them, she saw red on her fingertips. A nosebleed. Like in the dream… what a weird coincidence. She took the offered paper tissue and held it up to her nose, tilting her head backwards to stop the bleeding. She didn’t want to ruin her white duvet. “We just had an earthquake,” Joyce informed her. “Just a small one, nothing damaged I think,”

“Didn’t even feel a thing,” Buffy mused, a half-smile on her lips. Joyce laughed. “Doesn’t surprise me. You could sleep through the apocalypse,” she said, running her fingers through Buffy’s messy hair, trying to soften out her bedhair.

Looking at her reflection in the mirror; bloodshot eyes, darkened rings under her eyes. She’d end up looking like a bloodsucker.

A lovely morning with sunlight and hardly a cloud in the sky. Sultry. No wind or breeze. A concentrated atmosphere.

A smile as she thought back to her memory with Darla from the previous night.

Buffy put on her dressing-gown and joined her mom for breakfast downstairs. Joyce was reading the newspaper and listening to the radio at the same time. There was something about the earthquake – only minor damage, and no injuries. Then something about a volcanic eruption in the South Pacific. Buffy zoned out, her mind drifting back to the nightmare. “I heard there’s gonna be a blood moon tonight,” Joyce said. “Yeah?” Buffy looked up from her cereal. “And it’s a super moon too, so it is 8% larger than a normal full moon,” Joyce elaborated, sounding excited. “What? It’s a once in a lifetime event,” she excused when she caught Buffy’s look. “So a blood moon happens only once in a blue moon?” Buffy wondered, squinting against the sunlight. Joyce chuckled, nodding her head. “Yeah, because of the volcanic dust in the atmosphere the night-sky can have a blueish tint to it, so it could be a blue blood moon!”

Memories came flooding back to when she’d go with her mom and dad to stargaze with the telescope she had been gifted for Christmas. She had brought it with her to Sunnydale, but after her parents broke up she hadn’t wanted to use it anymore – too painful to be reminded of all the happy memories of them all together. “Want a ride to school?” Joyce wondered, sipping her coffee cup. “Yeah, thanks, Mom.”

At school it didn’t take long for Cordelia and her entourage to seek her out. “Buffy!” Cordelia said, sweetly, falling into step with Buffy, with Harmony and Amy flanking them. Cordelia was in a cheery mood, going on about her Halloween party she was throwing at her house. Her parents would be away so she had free reins. “Consider yourself invited,” Cordelia told Buffy, before listing off her two ground rules: “No fatties and no ethnics. OK?”  
Buffy nodded along without really paying attention. “What about Jews?” Harmony wondered, interrupting Cordelia’s monologue. “Looks White to me,” came the reply, Cordelia waving off the interruption, and quickly continuing about the lengths she’d gone to to make the party was an unmitigated success.

Maths class was just as boring as usual, and Buffy found herself absent-mindedly doodling in her notebook from her window seat towards the back of the classroom. Occasionally she’d look up and pay attention to what the teacher talked about – non-orientable surfaces and non-eucledian geometry… when would she ever need to know that outside of maths class? “The Möbius strip…” the teacher began, holding up a strip of plain white paper for them to see. “You twist it, connect the two ends, and the inside becomes the outside.” Buffy was struggling to try and replicate his drawing an isometric sphere on the blackboard, where he had demonstrated how the angles of a triangle on the sphere added up to more than 180°. But somehow she couldn’t get it right. She looked up, straining her eyes to try and see what it was she was doing wrong, but the teacher was already moving ahead, holding up a transparent plastic tesseract, and explaining how it was a shadow of a four-dimensional hypercube. She watched intently as he talked about the impossibility of trying to capture a four-dimensional object in the third dimension. Buffy found herself wondering what a being from the fourth dimension would look like, if human senses and minds could make sense of such a being, and she began doodling ideas for four-dimensional entities to pass the time. She ended up breaking the tip of her newly sharpened pencil. Clearly drawing was not her strong suit. Nor was imaging what something from a higher dimension would appear in the third apparently. Not to mention the mathematics of no-orientable surfaces and non-eucledian geometry. It was only giving her a serious headache.

“Buffy!” she looked up at her name being called out, and saw the teacher holding a piece of chalk and indicating towards a maths problem on the blackboard. Ignoring the snickers from her classmates at her failure to pay attention she got up and internally winced at the sharp scarping sound her chair made against the linoleum floor. With legs that felt like they were made of jelly she made her way to the front of the classroom. Was this how the condemned felt when they were approaching the scaffold?

She took the chalk, taking her first good look at the maths problem the teacher wanted her to solve. Mortified she came to the realisation she had absolutely no idea how to solve the problem. She didn’t even have any idea what the problem was. Since when did maths involve more letters than numbers anyhow? The geometrical figure consisted of lines that seemed to curve, yet at the same time they appeared perfectly straight. She was getting a headache, and the silence as seconds ticked by, was quickly becoming unbearable. She felt nauseas and stuttered something about not understanding the maths problem as she tried putting the chalk down. It fell to the floor where it cracked. There was muffled laughs from the others, as the teacher reprimanded her. Buffy wished a hole would open up and swallow her and the whole damn school in an infinite abyss.

No doubt she was flushing bright red, standing there before the entire class, everyone seeing how dumb she was. “Miss Summers!” principal Snyder barked at her, causing Buffy to flinch – shock and absolute embarrassment evident as she blushed and found herself unable to stutter anything coherent. She hadn’t even noticed him entering the room. “I will not tolerate this kind of moronic behaviour in my school!” he continued, trying to silence the rest of the class. Buffy saw everyone’s attention on her, and she fought the overwhelming urge to run off, glancing at her fellow classmates; Cordelia and Harmony looked appalled, disgusted shaking their hands, others stared open-mouthed, and others still laughed and pointed at her.

“Consider yourself expelled. Get out!” Snyder’s voice echoed through the classroom, momentarily drowning out the mocking laughter. His face was flushed red with anger, and his pointing, accusative finger trembled with barely repressed anger. Buffy stumbled and nearly lost her footing as she got down from the desk; mortified and teary-eyed she made for the door, and the mocking laughter of her classmates followed her out. She ran down the empty, seemingly neverending hallway, with the fading sound of laughter still echoing in her mind, and the clacking sound of her shoes on the linoleum floor. She reached a stairwell where she finally paused and took a seat; a hyperventilating and snivelling mess. She buried her head in her hands in a futile attempt to fight off the headache. Looking down she saw drops of blood on the floor, and a warm liquid dripping down from her lips. Buffy swiped at it with the back of her hand and saw a red stain contrasted against her skin.

Thankfully everyone else seemed to be in their classrooms, and the hallways were empty, and curiously darkened. It seemed that the gathering clouds had blocked out the sun almost completely, with only faint rays of sun managing to penetrate the clouds. It seemed like the weather was changing to match her mood, she thought as she got up, one hand under her nose to hold back the bleeding.

Buffy looked around, trying to determine where she’d ended up. She’d never been the best at familiarising herself with the layout of new places, and Sunnydale High seemed like a particular challenge. Up ahead a familiar-looking door caught her attention and Buffy hurried over, wasting no time in getting inside the restroom. The restroom was illuminated by blue lights, courtesy of principal Snyder’s fight against the school’s non-existent drug problem. Buffy looked at her reflection in the large mirror above the sinks, and in the room’s blue light she thought she looked sick and fever-ridden – bruise-like darkened shadows under her bloodshot eyes, pale skin and bloodstained skin. She tore off a piece of paper and brought it up to dry off the blood, and thought there was a curious sort of delay between her movement and the reflection in the mirror. It was the most curious thing…

Buffy crumpled up the bloodstained paper and threw it into a trash bin before she shuffled over to one of the stalls and closed the door behind her. Closing the lid she sat down on the toilet to rest and clear her head. Deep breaths, steady and controlled. How on earth was she gonna explain what had happened to her mom? She had already caused a rift between her parents and had been expelled from one school. It didn’t matter that she was the Slayer – the world itself seemed at odds with her and the secretive task that had been forced upon her young shoulders. She couldn’t stand the look of disappointment in her parents eyes, or the awful realisation that they had broken up because of her and her messed-up actions – actions she couldn’t justify to someone who wouldn’t listen to her explanations.

Seconds passed without any change, till a low rumbling began and the ground trembled under her feet. Another earthquake – the second in twenty-four hours. It felt like her head was gonna split open from the pain, and there was a most peculiar visual disturbance, like double exposed film, making it seem like there were two overlapping scenes playing out at once. Then the lights went out, plunging the room in complete darkness.

With eyes closed she leaned back against the toilet, and tilted her head backwards. Seconds ticked away and the low, deep rumbling seized. The sound of the door opening in the room beyond caught her attention, and though she didn’t know why, she held her breath and stayed as silent as possible. Footsteps on the floor outside, and it sounded like someone barefooted. Curiouser still. For some reason she couldn’t justify or explain the stranger’s presence filled her with an unexplainable dread. A strange sort of clicking sound broke the silence, then just as soon as it had begun it died away again.

But soon after another sound of movement within the restroom could be heard. One door after another was tested and opened, and Buffy knew the stranger would soon reach her stall. Her heart started racing as the inevitable moment drew closer and closer – agonisingly slow. A plan, half-formed and desperate hit her, and in the same instant her door was tested from the other side she pushed the lock, and with all her strength she forced open the door and dashed out into the pitch black restroom. She felt a thrill of horror at the feeling of something pressed up against the door as she forced it open. She had a vague sense of the room’s dimensions, but in the absolute blackness everything seemed distorted, and even the echoing sounds of the door felt off and wrong. But worst of all was the realisation that she was in the same room as the unseen stranger, and she had to fight to hold back a scream of deathly fear.

Buffy had faced all kinds of horrors and seen more death and destruction than most in her young life, but none of that compared to the terror she felt from the stranger in the darkened room with her. In that moment all went screaming wild, and she dashed for the exit door in a blind panic. The fear of being grabbed from behind was so intense and acute that it felt like she would go mad or faint. The time it took to reach the door and tear it open were the most agonising in her life, and she could sense the loathsome and terrifying presence of something unseen gaining on her. She tore open the door and dashed outside into the hallway, stumbling and very nearly losing her footing. In the dreadful moment it took for the door to swing shut she thought she caught a glimpse of the stranger who’s presence filled her with such dread. She cried out, a loud shriek of deathly terror, which pierced the air – a reflex action.

There was just a quick, blurry impression of something in the darkness; a sort of face, a ghastly, ghoulish death’s-head with shining eyes and a mouth – a smile. Her main thought was of something almost human, or something masquerading as a human.

But the door was not enough. She needed to put more distance between herself and the unseen foe, and she turned around and began running down the hallway; fleeing for her life and her sanity. With frantic breathing and desperate, frantic sprinting she dashed down the empty, darkened hallway, dodging stepladders and plastic coverings and wires, in what seemed like a wing of the school that had been closed off for renovation.

It was only then she noticed how dark it had gotten outside. It was as if night had fallen in the short time she had been in the restroom. A flash of lightning illuminated the darkened hallway, and it was almost immediately followed by a deafening crack of thunder. Though the flash and the sound caused her to flinch, what really filled her with dread was the things on the floor which had been illuminated by the blinding lightning flash. 

She couldn’t even begin to describe the things that crawled and dragged themselves along the floor – her mind was overwhelmed by revulsion and terror at the sight and just their closeness was beyond repugnant to her. Every moment she expected and dreaded the feeling of steeping on or just too close to one of them. It was an agonising feeling that tore at her sanity and threatened to pull her under.

The hallway seemed to stretch on and on, though in the near-darkness its dimensions were likely exaggerated. Still, her frantic fleeing dragged on till at last she had half-expected she would collapse from fright. Combat was not even something that once seemed like a viable option to her terrorised mind – only flight. Thankfully there appeared to be light at the end of the tunnel – and its warm glow and the prospect of human contact urged her on. Calling for help crossed her mind, but for some unexplained reason she couldn’t force herself to make any sort of noise. Whether it was fear of possibly drawing attention to herself by some hostile force, or because fear had simply made her incapable of uttering more than frantic gasps for breath she couldn’t wrap her mind around.

A sound, or maybe it was simply a presence she sensed, alerted her, and Buffy looked over her shoulder, even though she was absolutely terrified of what she might see. There was a scream of absolute terror, her own, and though she couldn’t properly process the nature of the threat, it absolutely overwhelmed her and she felt herself collapse, her terror-stricken body shutting down.

It took several seconds before Buffy became fully aware of her situation and her surroundings. She was in her bed, at home, and struggling to regain control of her sleep-locked body. The awful shock from the nightmare slowly began to subside as she took in her familiar surroundings; the warmth and safety of her bed, Mr Gordo next to her… She wanted to laugh at it all as relief washed over her and filled her with a warm, fuzzy feeling.

There was a noise, and her smile disappeared. Something was inside her walk-in closet, and she could see movement within. She knew she was fully awake, but somehow the nightmare was not over; it had followed her into waking reality.

With an anguished cry of terror she threw herself out of bed and lunged for the door. It had been left ajar, and the warm light from the outside hallway was the most welcomed sight in the world. “Mom!” she cried out, not caring how desperate and scared she sounded. She needed to alert her mom; to know she was safe and get them out. She dashed outside into the hallway, repeating her frantic cries as she hurried towards her mom’s bedroom. There was an awful sound of movement from her own bedroom, muffled and obscured by the closed door, but nonetheless urging her on, making her hurry.

Hadn’t Joyce heard her already? How could she sleep through the cries? Buffy reached the bedroom door and tore it open, not wasting any time by knocking. “Mom! Wake up!” she called into the darkened bedroom, gripping the side of the opened doorway till her knuckles turned white. “Mom!” she pleaded desperate and frantic. She could make out the outline of her mom under the duvet, but she got response, save for a slight movement from the sleeper.

It was then that the awful realisation finally dawned on her sleep-hazed mind. Her mom had gone out of town earlier that afternoon, something to do with the museum exhibit. She’d seen her off, waves goodbye and promised not to stay up too late, just hours ago. And yet there was movement beneath the duvet in her mom’s bedroom. In the light of the moon she saw how the figure in the bed stirred, and then appear to fall over the edge of the bed on the opposite side. Indeed something landed with an audible thump on the floor. The hairs on her arms stood up as the sound of movement continued, and she backed away, horrified by what might come into view.

Buffy turned and staggered down the stairs, feeling her way down, hands outstretched and touching the wall. Her entire body felt hyper-ware and numb at the same time; it was an awful feeling on top of the fear and uncertainty. She was awake, yet the nightmare continued. When she reached the bottom of the stairs and made for the entry way the sound of creaking from upstairs made her tremble with fear, and she snapped out of the reverie, reaching for the door, unlocking it and opening it to the night outside.

It really was the most awful and odd experience, running down the driveway and across the lawn in her bare feet and only wearing what she wore to bed. But she didn’t care about that, or what anyone would think if they saw her. She needed to get out of the house, away from whomever was in there. The grass was wet with night’s dew, and moon-dappled, and she rand under the cover of the trees, taking shallow breaths to try and get her pulse under control.

Without realising it tears ran down her flushed cheeks, and as she raised her hand to dry them away, Buffy was aware that her nosebleed was back. It had already dripped onto her oversized t-shirt and produced several stains on the front.

Everything was awfully silent and dark. Even for one of Sunnydale’s suburbs it was unnaturally quiet, and cold. She could see her breath in the air in the light of the moon; the temperature seemed awfully cold for California in October. Shivering she wrapped her arms around her frame, nervously looking around, but everything seemed deserted; no lights, no sounds. She was alone in a dead nighted world of hostile shadows that were closing in on her from every direction.

“Buffy!” a familiar voice called out to her, but it sounded faint, like it came from far away, yet it snapped her out of the awful strain on her aching mind, and a wave of relief washed over her as she caught sight of the approaching blond bloodsucker who came running towards her. “Buffy! What’s wrong?”   
Buffy smiled and let out a nervous laugh as she saw the worry in the vampire’s blue eyes. Darla brought her hands up to caress Buffy’s face, watching the nosebleed intently, her eyes fixed on the crimson trail. There was a brief moment of hesitation before Darla closed the distance between them and let her tongue swipe across Buffy’s bloodstained lips, savouring the taste. When she pulled back Buffy looked into shining predator eyes. “I love the way you taste,” Darla murmured softly, nuzzling Buffy’s neck. That feeling – her ‘Spidey-sense’ or sixth sense – ‘Slayer sense’? – calling out to her – had warned her in the past; an itchiness, strange, though not entirely unpleasant, it had been dulled – it was like she recognised that Darla wasn’t a threat to her, and the tingling sense had changed – or maybe it had been different all along and she’d not just been attuned to it?

“You’re shivering,” Darla near-whispered, struggling to ignore the fear she had felt at Buffy’s frightened appearance. “I feel like I’m trapped in awful nightmare without end,” Buffy whispered into the crook of her neck, her clod nose taking in the comforting scent of Darla’s perfume.

“Please, I don’t want to be alone right now,” Buffy pleaded, refusing to let go on her hold of the blonde vampire she clung to. “OK. Wanna go to my place?” Darla asked, stroking Buffy’s back.

With a reprise of their previous piggyback ride they approached an old, anonymous-looking building in the very outskirts of the city’s dead industrial area just south of Miller’s Woods and the train station. There was a great deal of copses in the surroundings, and the area didn’t see much traffic any longer. The building wasn’t new, and the company that had used to occupy it had moved out years ago. There were some quite large buildings across the parking lot behind the building, workshops and storages.

Darla unlocked the entrance, and held the doors open for Buffy. “Honey, I’m home!” she called out, leading Buffy up the stairs to the upstairs floor she rented. There was a cafeteria that could be used as a kitchen. Though Darla had no use for that, other than to store bloodpacks in the fridge if she didn’t feel like heading outside. Buffy also noticed she had a fair amount of catfood stored, and Darla told her she used to feed the stray cats in the area.

A black cat came to greet them, and Darla knelt down to pet it. “Say hello to Nigger-Man,” Darla said, picking up the black cat as if introducing it to Buffy. The cat looked at her with big yellow eyes, reminding her of Darla’s own yellow predator eyes. “Hello!” Buffy greeted, reaching out and petting the cat. Nigger-Man closed its eyes, a pleased, almost smug look on its face and purred contentedly at the attention.

“Cats are just about the only animals who can stand vampires,” Darla mused, putting the cat down, and giving Buffy the grand tour of the place. Darla felt rather self-conscious and almost embarrassed as she showed Buffy around; she’d never brought anyone over, and it was all very bare bones – a constant, painful reminder that she didn’t fit in, that she was an outsider. She didn’t have a lot, and all she did have was stolen, often from her past victims. It almost felt wrong to bring Buffy there to see, like she was tainting something good and pure, and Buffy’s goodness and pureness and innocence was what had first caught her attention, and still held it.

Buffy lay in bed next to Darla. It felt surreal and wonderful and terrifying all at the same time to just lie next to the other girl. Moonlight shone in through the window, filtered through the Venetian blinds, making distorted patterns all over the room. She was thankful for the relative darkness in the room as she opened up to Darla in a way she had never opened up to anyone before. One of the things that fascinated her about the blonde vampire was how she managed to strike a balance between her playfulness and her serious side. Buffy doubted there was anything she could say that would shock or surprise someone who had been around for centuries and seen and done so much.

“I think Mom and Dad broke up because of me, because of what happened back in L.A.” Buffy began, flushing red as she struggled how to word her worries correctly. “They started arguing after I got into trouble… and I couldn’t tell them, or anyone else, what was going on,” Buffy spoke in a near-whisper, looking into Darla’s eyes as she talked.  
“What about you?”  
“My parents? I don’t remember… their faces, voices, names… I don’t remember any of it,” Darla replied, and Buffy could see a sad smile, a slight tremble in her lips. Darla didn’t want that for Buffy; immortality wasn’t what it is cranked up to be – forced to endure a dark passenger taking control of her, living on the very edge of society. Buffy didn’t say anything, instead she leaned out and caressed Darla’s cheek, who squeezed her eyes shut.

“I don’t deserve your sympathy, Buffy,” Darla stated, her voice hoarse, and she opened her eyes, looking at Buffy with bloodshot eyes. “I’ve done terrible things… and I don’t feel any guilt or remorse… I just feel empty. If you only knew the things I’ve done you’d hate me,” Darla continued, though she didn’t move away from the gentle caress. Buffy sighed and brought their foreheads together. She had been avoiding asking questions she suspected she wouldn’t like the answers to, and she had tried not to think about what Darla did to survive. If she had thought about it, she’d try to tell herself that some of her victims had been assholes, deserving of their fate. It was a comforting fantasy she had told herself and desperately wanted to be true.

Darla rolled over, gazing up at the ceiling; she couldn’t take the look of pity or sympathy from the Slayer – it made her feel terrible, even with her dark passenger she recognised that it’d be messed up to get the Slayer to feel bad for her. She had no qualms about killing to survive, but Buffy’s reaction to it didn’t sit right with her. “You make me wish I was good,” Darla admitted, turning her head to look at Buffy.

Buffy smiled, feeling a flash of hope at the honesty and want in Darla’s voice. Urged on by the look in the vampire’s eyes, Buffy rolled over, and with effortless grace she straddled Darla, looking down at the girl below her; her heart picked up, and she had no doubt Darla felt the effect on her body – the sound of her breathing, the beating of her heart, the dilated pupils. There was something in the way they responded to each other that made Buffy feel confident and bold, in a way she never had before. It was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking – uncharted territory, just like everything else in her relationship with Darla. Buffy leaned in and captured the lips in a slow, deep kiss; pouring all her emotions into it.

Darla was the one who broke the kiss; biting her lower lip, she looked up at the blonde Slayer who had taken charge. Buffy smiled at the reaction she had managed to cause. Normally she wasn’t one to take the lead, since she was often left a stuttering or silent mess of doubt and embarrassed around a guy she liked; but Darla wasn’t a guy. Maybe that was why she felt bolder around her, why she didn’t end up stuttering something incoherent yet embarrassing? She felt a shudder as Darla’s hands landed on her hips, caressing her body in a way that felt both intimate and innocent.

Darla reacted to something, turning her head to the side, and Buffy immediately felt a change pass over her. Her face scrunched up, and she forced her eyes shut. Buffy turned to see what had caused such a strong reaction from the vampire. Blood. So much blood. The floor was covered with it, and pooling around the naked, pale bodies – hundreds of them, piled up in heaps, sprawled out in awkward positions with limbs poking out.

A young woman was still moving, quickly bleeding to death from a ghastly bite-wound to her ivory-skinned neck. Looking at them with her light brown eyes – filled with the realisation of imminent death. A last, desperate gargled plea for help as blood streaming down from her wound, leaking out from between her fingers in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. She collapsed on the blood-soaked floor, twitching once or twice before becoming still, the pool of blood growing around her pale, naked body.

Buffy felt her breath caught as she stared in shock at the morbid, gut-wrenching sight, and she felt Darla’s pained reaction beneath her as well; the blonde vampire was close to hyperventilating – no doubt a reflex action since vampires had no need to breathe. Buffy turned away from the awful sight of death and bloodshed, and looked down at the vampire beneath her. Their eyes met as Darla opened her eyes; neither spoke, just lost in each other’s eyes. Buffy had been so desperate to believe there was some remnant of goodness in Darla, that her daemonic dark passenger wasn’t left to do as it pleased. She felt tears forming in her eyes, but she couldn’t tell why – likely there were a multitude of reasons, none of them easily pinned down as the exact cause.

With unsteady, fumbling movements she climbed off Darla, and the vampire did not try to stop her, though her eyes seemed to beg her not to go. The metallic stench of blood was nauseating, and the sight of so many dead bodies thrown up in heaps made her want to gag and get as far away as possible.

She stuttered something incoherent, broken words intended to explain her need to get away, but her voice was hoarse and the words themselves didn’t seem to come. She was left unable to vocalise her feelings – perhaps no words existed that could accurately convey what she was feeling?

Buffy backed away, trying not to look at the bodies, the ghastly reminder that the girl she had crushed on was a killer. The awful pool of blood was still spreading on the floor, and Buffy found the idea of stepping barefooted through the still-warm liquid unbearable. She backed into the wall, and the windowsill – finding the opened window her only way to escape the ghastly scene of carnage. “Come with me. Let’s get out of here,” Buffy pleaded, reaching out, offering her hand to the blonde vampire who lay curled up on the bed they had occupied together just a few moments ago. She couldn’t stand being in the room any longer, nor would she want Darla to be left alone, surrounded by her past victims. Darla looked at her, taking in the look in Buffy’s eyes before her gaze fell on the outstretched hand. To Buffy’s immense relief Darla took her hand, and together they climbed out and down the fire-escape ladder.

Once down on the ground Buffy closed her eyes and took in the fresh, cool night-air, finally drawing her breath fully after the sickening stench of blood. “The Harvest…” Darla said in a near-whisper. Her head was tilted back and she looked up at the reddish moon with a sense of dread as Drusilla’s blood-fuelled dream came back to her.

A deep low rumble broke the eerie, unnatural silence. At first Buffy couldn’t determine its source – earthquake or thunder? As it turned out it was both; the ground trembled and the thunder caused a sonic boom, cracking and splintering nearby windows. Buffy felt an awful sense of vertigo and disorientation brought on by the dreadful change that became more and more pronounced. The agonising headache made her cringe and groan, threatening to overwhelm her Slayer senses by its oppressive force.

She couldn’t stand its dreadful presence much longer she thought, gritting her teeth, trying to bring her jumbled thoughts in line. Giles! He would know what to do, or he’d find something in his dusty and musty old books! She was sure of it. She turned to face Darla, and once more the nauseating sense of double exposure made her aching head hurt. Biting back the pain she grabbed Darla’s head and led the way.

Jenny Calendar cried out as she woke from the dreadful dream; it lingered in her sleep-hazed mind for a few seconds longer – distorted dream-memories of the awful tales she had heard growing up. How her ancestors and their entire community had been butchered by a gang of bloodsuckers. As a child the stories had been a recurring nightmare, and the vivid descriptions that had been passed down from generation to generation, had stuck with her, and her dreams had mixed with the stories till she no longer could tell where one ended and the other began – they had been fused, inseparably through the years.

Though time had lessened the initial impact of the stories, they had nonetheless stuck with her, and lately the nightmares had come back, stronger and more intense than before. There was something in the air… in the town… that made those stories come back to mind.

She sat up in her chair and buried her aching head in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut, but even so there was a strange sort of glow on her retina. It was irritating, and impossible to pin down what colour it was – either iridescent or always subtly changing, shifting… When she opened her eyes again the curious sort of glow was still there – shining in through the cracked window. A strange reddish light. Fascinated she got up and walked over to the damaged window. Just like in the dream she had had.

She reached out and touched the cracked window-glass with her fingertips; it looked like a large, ghastly cobweb had spread over the window, making everything seem distorted. It was curiously quiet outside, and unusually dark. It wasn’t late, not much after sunset, and try as she might, she couldn’t see any lights outside, other than the reddish glow of the full blood moon. Jenny stepped outside and took in the curiously warm night – flush against her exposed skin, curiously and awfully oppressive. There must bee a power outage going on, since she could see no electrical lights anywhere. There were people out and about, most were standing still, just watching the night-sky and the blood moon, some were just sitting around, and one guy was breaking the silence with his loud proclamations that the end was upon them.

Despite the unusual heat Jenny felt a chill down her spine – part of it was the recurring nightmare, but there was something in the night-air, the oppressive and foreboding feeling of doom. Online people were talking of the apocalypse – Kali Yuga… Ragnarǫk… it was one thing to scoff at that in the light of day, but as the weeks passed there was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something was wrong, that something was happening. And under the eerily glowing full super blood moon it was hard to silence the voice in her head, and brush away the comments she had read online.

Buffy rang the doorbell and stepped back, fidgeting nervously with her hands as she waited for Giles to open. Darla hadn’t spoken since they left her place and Buffy saw in her downcast eyes that the nightmarish scene had affected her. If only because she felt guilt at her past being laid bare, it was something for Buffy to hold onto – a human reaction, proving her daemonic dark passenger wasn’t in complete control. The door swung open, revealing a tired-looking Giles. He squinted at them, as if still drowsy from sleep. “’pon my word,” he said, seemingly surprised to see them. Darla did a polite curtsey before shaking his hand. “How d’you do?” Giles greeted, shaking the offered hand, then looking at Buffy, who tried to put up a brave face. “Please, come in you two, I’ve just put the kettle on,” Giles continued, ushering them inside.

He offered them a seat on the sofa as he disappeared off to the kitchen, fetching tea and biscuits. He even found a plate and tea-cups for Darla, which she found charming and sweet. It made her feel like she belonged to the world of the living. “Giles, I…” Buffy trailed off, not finding the right words. “I must have fallen asleep,” Giles said, seemingly not paying attention to Buffy’s nervousness. “I had the most curious dream… or, nightmare, rather,” he went on coming back with the tea mug and pouring their cups, forgetting himself and filling Darla’s cup as well. “Oh, codswallop!” he muttered to himself, pouring himself a cup as well.

“Giles!” Buffy spoke up, breaking his reverie, as he sat there with his tea cup, just starring blankly off at the wall behind them. “Yes, Buffy?” Giles said, focusing his attention on her, putting his tea cup down on the tray without taking a sip. “There is something wrong,” she began, struggling to try and explain the nightmare she found herself trapped in. “It feels like I’m in a dream or nightmare…” Buffy murmured softly, moving the tea cup around on its tray, a nervous tick to keep herself focusing on something.

Giles slumped back in his armchair at the words, a defeated, weary look on his face. He looked tired, with bloodshot eyes and a five-’o-clock shadow on his usually clean-shaven chin. His face scrunched up, as if he was trying to recall something half-remembered from the depths of his tired mind. “I remember reading something in one of the texts the Council sent over, it just arrived earlier today… if I only could remember!” he rubbed his temple and let out a tired sigh. “It had something to do with the Master stirring in his tomb… as he wakes reality begins to crumble around us…” he trailed off at the end, letting the sentence sink in.

“I have been translating the texts attributed to the Master from ancient Greek, and then trying to decipher their cryptic message,” Giles went on, his tea seemingly forgotten. “We know hardly anything about this Order… they guard their secrets carefully. They hardly ever evangelise their message. They don’t want to remain undiscovered till it is too late. They have waited for so long…” Giles let out a defeated sigh. “If we knew where the Master’s tomb is,” he added, mostly to himself.

“I ran into some family in Vegas – one of them, my dear granddaughter… she has a gift, she’s got this weird insight – clairvoyance, prophetic dreams…” Darla waved her hand, looking for the correct words to try and explain Drusilla’s gift. Buffy gave her a look – Darla had a granddaughter? How old was she? Giles didn’t pay that detail any attention, but the promise of insight from a prophetic dream caught his attention, and he listened intently as Darla told them of Drusilla’s dream.

Even before she had finished Giles had found a map of Sunnydale and cleared the table so he could view all of it at once. He used some of his nearby old dusty tomes to keep it spread out. “There was a wood there once, the Indian name for it translated as “Whispering Wood” or “Ghost-wood”, and they shunned the place. Their legends said the wood was haunted by some evil presence from below that would whisper to them in their dreams if they stayed there. They said there was a cave opening from which these sounds would call out to them at times,” he explained, reading from a book on local Indian legends. “Where was this?” Buffy wondered. Giles removed his glasses. “The wood covered this whole area, and the cave entrance was where the school now stands.”

On the school grounds there had since time immemorial stood two great standing stones marking the entrance to a cave system. Then the school had been built on the site, right on top of the cave entrance. The builders had covered the narrow entrance with a cover of cement, and no one could longer remember that there had been a cave entrance there, or the standing stones that predated it. The Indians had shunned it, and told whispered rumours of the place; the White settlers had also avoided the place at first, till necessity forced them to make use of the land.

But on the Order of Aurelius, the place had the opposite effect – they were drawn there, as if a voice was calling out to them. Above the school building the autumnal moon shone down, a super blood moon. The voice was clearer, unmistakable. Angel, Luke and their entourage had felt the summons, and at last the time was ready to free the Master. The ancient dreamer was stirring, waking up.

Angel and Luke entered the empty school and made their way down the darkened corridors and hallways towards the basement. Luke signalled with his hand and the Three began to work on the cracked cement floor with their sledghammers. Again and again the sledghammers rained down on the floor, sending splinters of concrete flying, till at last a gaping black hole had been exposed – an entryway to the netherworld of eternal night, deeper than the well of Democritus.

“The eternal night is upon us. Let us take the last steps together, and see what lies behind the curtain,” Angel then turned to the Three. “Guard the entrance with your lives.” They bowed in response as Angel and Luke led the way down into the exposed narrow entrance.


End file.
